


A bad wolf

by Umerue



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bad Wolf, Bitterness, Drama & Romance, End of the World, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situations, Internal Conflict, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Not Beta Read, You and me against the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 51,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umerue/pseuds/Umerue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Fen'Harel never became calm, intelligent, controlled Solas? What if he didn't grow or change with years, but remained hot-headed, arrogant, cocksure youth he was before fall of Elvhenan? What if his best trick also poisoned his heart with bitterness, turning him into evil god as the Dalish believe?</p><p>While he slept, the People died. </p><p>AU. Inspired by kink-meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I ask you to take the tags seriously to avoid any discomfort. Fen'Harel of this story is nothing like Solas in the game, and everything like the evil god Dalish believe he is. If you are familiar with my other stories, this is much more like "Herald of Corypheus" than Mythal's quest-series.

His ears were still ringing, and Dread Wolf scrubbed the soft flesh of his ears with annoyance. Who would have expected a buffoon like Elgar’nan even notice he was being tricked into eternal imprisonment? Not that Fen’Harel cared about his yelled threats – he had heard the same things from six different mouths today and from Forgotten Ones yesterday - , but the volume had been needlessly loud. Now he couldn’t hear a thing.  
Out of spite, Dread Wolf kicked the mirror which exploded into thousand little pieces. The shards flew across the room, and hit his barrier. And when his hearing came back, Fen’Harel’s ears were filled with shrill, hysterical cry of a child.

He turned and saw a little elf on wobbly legs standing at the door of Elgar’nan’s bedroom. She couldn’t be much older than one or two years. Fen’Harel tried to avoid contact with small creatures as a rule; they were messy, uninteresting, and always ruining his robes with spit or other unwanted substances. This one was no exception. Fen’Harel saw blood pooling around infant’s collarbone, staining the frilly nightshirt red. A shard from eluvian stuck out from child’s flesh, and she cried hysterically, babbling partial words which were impossible to understand. 

Fen’Harel cursed. He had no time for delays such as this; as soon as Elgar’nan’s priests noticed they no longer could feel their master’s presence, they would be upon him. He crouched down to pull the shard out, and was taken aback when Mythal’s violet eyes, filled with tears, stared at him from infant’s face.   
Alarmed, Fen’Harel looked at the room behind the baby. He saw a small cot in the corner of Elgar’nan’s luxurious bedroom, and hastily arranged bags filled with clothes and whatever babies needed. Rattles. Dolls. The relocation from wherever Mythal and Elgar’nan had kept this one hidden from the pantheon, had clearly been hurried.   
“You are not supposed to exist!” he snarled at the infant, poking at pretentious sun symbol on the chest of her smock. Her balance was pitiful; the tiny elf fell on her bottom and wept only louder.   
“Shut up! What I’m going to do with you? I’m running out of mirrors!” Fen’Harel demanded.  
The hellish noise the infant was making was clearly a trait inherited from her father. If he left even one little godling for People to worship, nothing would change. Even those who didn’t serve Elgar’nan or Mythal would use this one as a rallying banner, and all Fen’Harel’s sacrifices would be naught.   
The wisest action would be to kill the howling infant. A quick spell would be all it took. It was fair, in a way. Countless elves had died in Elgar’nan’s wars, adults and children alike, and Mythal was not innocent either. What would one life, barely started, weight against freedom of everyone else?  
On the other hand, Fen’Harel’s eyes narrowed, this could be a perfect opportunity to bring forth a new Age. His heart still ached from what he had just done. He didn’t regret any of it – the others had brought their own downfall on themselves – but a continued solitary existence in his new world was not a concept he welcomed gladly. A man was made by his enemies; he strived to outwit them, to outlive them. What there was to achieve after such a crushing victory?   
Maybe the infant had a use after all. Elgar’nan did not have a sole right to revenge. Taking his well-guarded secret and molding her into a shining beacon of new age would bring Fen’Harel great pleasure. A Mythal who should have been, if the goddess had only listened Fen’Harel’s good advice and left the lout.

Making up his mind, Fen’Harel pulled out the bloody shard from tiny elf’s flesh and threw it on the floor. He picked up the infant and opened a portal to travel through the Fade. Holding the sobbing child like a sack, Fen’Harel admired his handiwork. Countless people would thank him for the Veil. It truly was, as he had told to his brethren, a key to keeping the other group of gods from interfering with world ever again. Void, Elvhenan and Golden City neatly separated.  
“Stop wailing.” Fen’Harel told the infant. “Or I change my mind about killing you.”  
“Papae.” the baby let out a final, desperate sob.   
“Not in this world.” Dread Wolf told her dryly and they left.


	2. A prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, Fen'Harel pays a visit before leaving to Conclave.

“What did you bring me this time?” Iveani asked eagerly. “Books? Flowers? Anything?”  
“You have all the books and flowers of Fade you could ask for, and a spirit of Wisdom to tell you stories.” Fen’Harel replied.  
He was not on good mood. He so rarely was, these days, and Iveani did not know why. Maybe the new religion he had helped to create had gone awry, or some other plan had failed. She knew better than to ask, however. She had done so, once, and it didn’t end well. He left angry and didn’t come back for a very long time.  
“I have already dreamed of them all.” she decided to plea once again. “Wisdom says she has nothing more to tell me. She says that there are other places, a world outside this room.”  
“You wouldn’t want to see It.”, Fen’Harel told her. “There is a war going on.”  
“Again?” Iveani asked, frowning.  
“Mages fight templars, and templars fight mages. The humans are holding a peace negotiations in a place called Haven, and I wish to see it. “  
“This Haven... Is it far?” Iveani asked, feeling uneasy.  
“Somewhat.” Fen’Harel answered. “It might be some time before I can come to see you again.”  
“Oh.” her face fell.  
“I brought you something.” Fen’Harel said. “A morning birdsong. A smell of smoke in the air, and a burning city. A taste of blood on his lips and a last breath. The sharpness of friend's final betrayal. The spirits in Kirkwall remember well how the war started. ”  
The dream was bitter with sadness, but Iveani reached for it nonetheless. There was a faint smile on Fen’Harel’s lips as he watched her pulling power through the Veil to study the memory he had brought. It was not a kind smile, not like in her books or Wisdom’s stories, but it was the only one Iveani had ever known. All she had ever seen was this room, her guardian spirit and Fen’Harel. There was a world outside, she knew, but it was not finished yet. Fen’Harel said that it was not a place for someone like her, and one day, when the world was right again, he would take her there and show Iveani everything.  
“Will you stay?” she asked, securing the dream for later study. “Surely you don’t have to go yet.”  
“I will stay for a night.” Fen’Harel replied. “I must rest before I set out to Haven.”

Iveani was pleased. She had no way to tell how old she was, or any way to measure time except what little Fen’Harel told her about world outside. But at some point after Andraste burned and Shartan fell, and the Dales were taken in Exalted March, there had been a change. Fen’Harel seemed more driven, more unhappy and bitter than before, and Iveani did not know what to do to help him. He was her whole world.  
“Do you love me?” she asked when she extinguished the veilfire and laid down on the bed.  
“I do. You are the only one left, only one who is real on both sides of the Veil.” he said, sounding tired. “As long as I have you, I won’t die alone.”  
“Are there others like us, Fen’Harel? People coming to visit others like you visit me?” she asked, pressing herself closer to him.  
“Not like us, Iveani. But people visit each other. They make friends, and enemies, become lovers or find out they don’t mean much to each other at all. You know all this. I’ve told you.”  
“Tell me our story, Fen’Harel.” she said, turning to kiss his cheek.  
“If I must.” he said without true reluctance. The story was old tradition of theirs. “Your mother was murdered, and your father left you. I found you, alone and wounded. The scar on your collarbone is from that. And I brought you here, where we slept for a long time. Then I left to see the world, and change it, while you stayed. You grew and learned.”  
“But you are not my father. Or my mother. I have no relatives living.” Iveani reminded herself.  
“No. But you have me.”, Fen’Harel pulled them into a dream so skillfully that she almost did not notice.  
“What you are then, Fen’Harel?”  
“I’m your wolf.” he told her and slipped his fingers into wetness between her legs.


	3. A rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift appears in Iveani's prison, and she learns Fen'Harel was right when he told the world wasn't a place for her.

Ever since Fen’Harel left to Haven, there had been something wrong with her room. It was fraying from the corners and turning green. Iveani spent several days drawing the outlines on the floor and walls, and they kept slowly creeping forwards. Then the green ate one of her favorite drawings. She didn’t remember when she had drawn it, but she must have been very small. Two misshapen stick figures holding hands with Wisdom had always made Fen’Harel smile in that faintly amused, a bit devious way.  
Wisdom looked worried, and told her to keep away from the green spots. They kept growing, and then finally, one morning when Iveani woke up, Wisdom was gone. It was first time ever she had been alone. When Fen’Harel came to visit, Wisdom usually left, but there was no sign of him or it.

She had thought of running away few times. But it was hard to leave when there was no door or windows, like people had in her books or dreams Fen’Harel brought to her. Fen’Harel simply appeared to her room when he visited, and refused to tell her how he did it. Her last effort had ended with Fen’Harel sitting on the table and laughing at her angry attempts to break out by magic. Iveani had given up trying after that. She didn’t like Fen’Harel laughing at her. It made her feel stupid. She liked him better when he was happy. Fen’Harel was wonderful when he was happy. His whole face became animated, and his voice was filled with passion towards his topic. He forgot the sharp remarks he made so easily, and shone like a benevolent Maker.

Iveani slept and rose again, but there was still no sign of Wisdom. She sat on her bed and watched the puddle of green in the corner. It was large enough for a person to fit through. If someone wanted to jump into potentially harmful, unknown magical substance. She had memorized Enchanter Gaston’s ‘Ways of the Crows’ to letter, and three a bit more abstract elvhen and old Tevene essays on the same subject.  
She took a hairbrush from her table and looked at the puddle again. Carefully she levitated the brush over the green spot and dropped it. There was a sucking sound, and the brush disappeared.

Thrilled and worried at the same time, Iveani started searching for anything she could drop in the green. She didn’t have many items. Fen’Harel didn’t believe in gifts which were human and fleeting. He always told her that memories and dreams were far better, and why she needed things when she could bend the Fade to her will and create them.  
She tied up the sheets in her bed – a special gift from Fen’Harel when the empire of Orlais had been created and the rose-colored silk had been the height of fashion – and started feeding the rope inside green corner. When she pulled her makeshift rope back up, it looked unharmed.

She looked around her room, and made up her mind. Iveani jumped through the green.

\--

She didn’t know where to look first. She knew the names for everything, but had never seen them before with her own eyes. Sky was blue, with ominous swirling hole in it, and there were large trees around her everywhere. And the space. The sheer space of world around her was shocking. It was nothing like her small room, where seven long strides could take her easily from one wall to another. This was _limitless_.

Taken by emotion, Iveani started to cry. She was thrilled, but also afraid, and had no idea where to go. Except she did not want to go back, no matter what Fen’Harel would say.  
“Halt, stranger!” a male voice shouted. Iveani looked up, and saw three tattooed men aiming arrows at her.  
“We saw you falling from a rift.” the same male continued. “You don’t feel like a demon, and demons don’t drop hairbrushes and sheets from a rift. What are you?”  
“I think she’s an elf. Look those ears!” one of the men said excitedly. “A full-blooded elf!”  
“I am elf.”, third man said.  
“Yeah, one quarter elf four generations removed.” the first man pointed out.  
“It’s still more than you have. Shem.”  
Iveani started to back off, feeling nervous.  
“Hey! Don’t go anywhere. We’ll take you to Keeper.”  
“A full-blooded elf can make our Clan rich beyond measure. The empress would pay anything.”  
“Yeah! We could connect with our ancestral blood for real!”  
Iveani had seen enough bad dreams in the Fade to know how this would end.  
“Wisdom!” she screamed, and pulled the Veil. It was harder here than in her room, but she raised her hands, and lighting hit down. Iveani smelt the burned hair and heard them yell in pain.  
“Knife-ear bitch.” a man cursed. “Seize her!”  
Panicking, she cast Veilstrike, slamming down the raw energy from Fade. It worked just like Fen’Harel had taught. The combination worked, sending the men in sleep. When they collapsed down, Iveani couldn’t move. She didn’t know what to do. She just stared at them, trying to calm down, and her breath came in ragged sobs.

Wisdom manifested in front of her.  
“Oh, lethallan, what have you done? Why are you crying? Did they hurt you?”  
Iveani blinked, only then registering the wetness on her cheeks. She shook her head.  
The spirit took her hand, pulling her forwards.  
“Come. We must leave before they wake up.”  
“I thought the world would be wonderful place.” Iveani said, feeling terrified. “Where are all the elves? Where are the crystal spheres Fen’Harel spoke about? Libraries, temples, songs which lasted for centuries. These men have tattoos and they spoke about their Keeper, but they are humans. Like Anders of Kirkwall in memory Fen'Harel brought last time.”  
Wisdom looked at her with sadness in its eyes.  
“Lethallan, your People are gone. It happened while Fen’Harel slept. He woke up too late to stop it. Most of the People who survived civil war were bred out in Tevinter slavery, and the few remaining were cut down when Dales fell. The last elf died three hundred and fifty years ago.”


	4. Keeper Gisharel and other elven experts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel has a problem with elven experts such as Keeper Gisharel and Sister Amity.

“I have read that elves smell like strawberries, and they don’t wear shoes because the touch of their bare feet makes earth bloom with flowers.”, the Herald of Andraste, 19-year-old Renaste Trevelyan told Fen’Harel.  
“I take it you like writings of Keeper Gisharel from Ralaferin Clan?” Fen’Harel arched his eyebrows.  
Gisharel had been one of damned pretenders who thought that having an elven great-grandparent made him an elf. Fen’Harel had always regretted that Gisharel had died because of smallpox; he still wanted to kill the man for spreading his fucked-up stories about Fen’Harel’s Great Betrayal, The Coarser and the Wolf and the giggling. Especially the mad giggling.  
“Yes! I think it’s wonderful how elf-blooded people like him are true to their roots and try to keep the legacy of their ancestors alive! I wanted to join a Clan when I was fifteen, but they only accept people who can prove their elvish blood with documentation. It is one thing Trevelyans lack, and I think it’s a pity. Mother said you can meet all the best people there. Only the truly ancient houses can claim an elven ancestor.”  
“I would appreciate if you didn’t move your hand while I’m trying to redirect the arcane energies to make sure your power doesn’t consume you.” Fen’Harel said dryly. “Maybe we could discuss a less animating topic than nobles of old raping their slaves.”  
“But this is so wonderful. A true living elf, holding my hand.” Renaste giggled. “What did you say your name was again?”  
“Fen’Harel.”  
“It even sounds elvish!”  
“I would expect it to be so.”  
“But how are you here, if all others are dead?” the Herald asked innocently.  
“That is a discussion I will not have. There. You will survive another day. That’s more than your people gave to mine.” Fen’Harel snapped, dropping her hand and standing up so quickly that his chair fell. He marched out from bedroom Renaste shared with Cassandra, not listening Renaste’s apologies, and stormed out of the Haven Chantry.

The people were staring at him. Humans and dwarves, all watching him. Likely they waited to see if he would burst into a song. Fen’Harel felt sick. The feeling was familiar. It had been with him ever since the Dales fell.

He had thought that becoming Shartan to Andraste would save the People. He had given up much. He had been Andraste’s lover, and her true betrayer. He was the one who took messages between Archon Hessarian and Maferath. Who first convinced Maferath of what had to be done. It had taken many nights, many dreams, but finally Andraste’s husband had understood that he could not win. A new religion needed a martyr. And Fen’Harel had held Andraste in his arms, smiling at his human lover. When she burned at stake, screaming for help, he had cried. For his pain and another betrayal, but for relief, because Maferath kept his word. Dales was given to elves who still remained. A pitiful lot, numbering less than three thousand. They had lost immortality and most of their magic, but they tried with stubbornness which made Fen’Harel hope against hope. He had stayed for a time to teach them, to tell them what to do. They had built statues for him, but then to others, too. Fen’Harel had lost his temper. He did not want to see the People to honor a murderer. He had released the elves from slavery twice; first by imprisoning his brethren and second time by creating a cult of Maker – how they dared to weep for a master to enslave them again?

Exhausted and still heartbroken, Fen’Harel had fled to Fade. He had one kinswoman left, imprisoned like the rest of them. But Iveani knew nothing of what she was, or what he was. She was always happy to see him, and it was soothing to see the excitement in her eyes as he showed her memories of his journey with Andraste. He spent a long time with her, teaching her about what had been good in Elvhenan and what would become reality once again after the People built Dales anew.

But it had taken too long. There was no way to tell passing of time inside her prison; Fen’Harel had made it so on purpose. And when he left, he found only burning ruins from where Dales had been. The Chantry he had helped to create had called an Exalted March upon them for those cursed statues. Sister Amity had written that they were a clear proof of Halamshiral’s dark heart, and the elves had needed Andraste’s word to deliver them from wickedness. The woman had ended her account of Second Exalted March with a pious wish that Maker’s Grace had touched the wild, murderous elves before they met their deaths by weapons of righteousness.

Sister Amity had died mysteriously in her sleep three days after her book had been published.

 


	5. First sunset on this side of the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wisdom and Iveani have a disagreement, and go their separate ways.

“I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’m not going back there.” Iveani said, her teeth chattering from cold. She was hugging herself to keep warm. Wisdom shook its head. They had fled to mountains to escape those hunting Iveani, and the decision was proving to be disastrous.   
“You can’t survive here, lethallan. You know nothing of cold, or hunger.”  
“Whose fault is that?” Iveani replied. “You would take me back if you could, wouldn’t you? But you can’t, because you aren’t real on this side of the Veil.”  
The spirit didn’t meet her eyes. It was all the answer Iveani needed.   
“Everything I have been told is a lie. You lied to me. You told me stories about the People, and how I should be patient. That one day, when the world was ready, Fen’Harel would let me out. But if the People are gone, it was never going to happen.” Iveani accused the spirit. “You were my teacher. My friend. But also my prison guard, weren’t you?”  
The spirit bent its head in shame.   
“Fen’Harel needed someone he could trust. He has lost so much.”  
“I don’t care about what he has lost! It’s not an excuse!” Iveani said, turning her back on Wisdom and starting to wade forwards in knee-deep snow.  
“Lethallan, be sensible. It will be dark soon. You will die of cold, or fall in a hole covered by snow, or some beast will find you. You can’t draw sustenance from Fade in this place.”  
“I don’t care.” Iveani was stubborn. “Besides, there was a hole in the floor. The whole room is probably destroyed by now.”  
Her short-sleeved dress was not adequate protection against the cold winds or the snow. Wisdom could see her lips were slowly turning blue even though she had cast a warming spell over herself.   
“It’s called a rift.” Wisdom said, floating after her. “The sky is full of them, and they pull my brethren on this side against our will. It happened to me so fast that I didn’t have time to wake you up.”  
Iveani continued in silence, ignoring the spirit. Finally she asked:   
“How long until we are out of sight?”  
“You have to get to top of the mountain and down on the other side, lethallan. Otherwise those below will see you. And use magic to cover up your traces.”

Iveani’s mouth was stubborn line and her whole body was shaking as she trudged onwards, teeth chattering audibly. Wisdom wrung its ethereal hands and floated after her. The spirit knew that look. It had cared for Iveani and Fen’Harel as they slept, and raised the girl after they woke up. Once Iveani had set her mind on something, she didn’t give up, and getting out had been one thing she had been talking about for a long time. No matter how disappointing the world provided to be, she would die first than to go back to Fade, and Wisdom couldn’t let it happen. The thought of dying alone would break Fen’Harel’s spirit beyond repair.

Normally Wisdom would have called the Dread Wolf for help, but it couldn’t abandon its charge in world she knew only from books and stolen memories. So it had no option but to follow Iveani, and hope for the best.

 

She stood on the mountaintop and watched the sun set towards on the west. From her vantage point, she could see the rift in the distance. Even though Iveani had walked the whole day, she hadn’t been able to get very far. Travelling was vastly different in dreams. Less tiring, and less cold. Her stomach was making noises, and her clothes were wet. But maybe this was what living was like. It was her first real sunset. It had to count for something.

When Fen’Harel had been still happy, he had told her how important it was to be free. Iveani knew that the People had been slaves, once, and their faces had been tattooed to tell whom they belonged to. Just like humans she had seen. But Iveani couldn’t help but wonder why that freedom he held so dear never seemed to extend to her. What she had done to deserve imprisonment? She remembered no other life than her room and Fen’Harel. In her earliest memories, she was in that room, and small enough to stand under the table. It was hard to think what would be bad enough deed from a child that young to lose her freedom. Wisdom would say it was an act of love, a way to keep her safe, but why they had lied about the People, then? They could have told her that the People were dead, and the world Fen’Harel had shown her in dreams was gone.  
  
“Iveani, you can’t go on like this. You are running out of mana, and mountains are dangerous. You don’t even know where we are. I’m going to get Fen’Harel.” the spirit said.   
“You can do what you like.” Iveani snapped. She felt like a fool, and it made her angry. Angry enough to ignore Wisdom’s pleas, burn through the last of her mana for another warmth spell and start walking down on other side of the mountain.

There was mountain after mountain and no end in sight.


	6. Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renaste Trevelyan attempts to impress Fen'Harel by arranging a heroic rescue to save his missing friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke in this story sided with Templars and remained a Viscount. He didn't flee after DA II, but was there when Cassandra came to question the Champion. Cass dragged both Varric and Hawke to talk with Divine, but they never had time to do that before explosion. Because lady Trevelyan is a noblewoman of good breeding and connections and a suitable person to call Herald of Andraste, Hawke has been able to avoid joining the Inquisition advisors, spending his time hanging out in a tavern with Varric. So far.

“You have an elf here? An actual, living elf?” Garrett Hawke asked. He was a man who was used to fate throwing strange happenings on his way, but this was something even stranger than old witches appearing from amulets.  
“Yep.” Varric nodded. “He’s just like in tales. Two sharp-pointed ears. He calls himself Fen’Harel. The Inquisitor is rather taken with him.”  
“Where did he come from? Are there more?”  
“Nobody knows. He just appeared after the Breach happened, and offered to help. He was the one who figured out how to close rifts, and kept the Herald from dying. Fen’Harel claims that he has spent his time sleeping in remote places to learn about the Fade. Some people here like Vivienne are just itching to make him join the Circle, but Cassandra isn’t having any of it since he isn’t a blood mage or possessed. “  
“I’ve seen my share of people wanting to join a clan and smoke elfroot to get closer to the Fade. Those clans which are really naughty, encourage their members to eat funny mushrooms and enact a sex magic rite to invoke your inner elf in name of Mythal.” Hawke replied.  
“How do you know about it?” Varric queried.  
“Planning another embarrassing chapter for next edition of your book of lies?” Hawke asked. “Isabela told me all about it. She spent two weeks with a Dalish hunter once, but soon decided that a life of noble wanderer wasn’t for her.”  
“Rivaini wouldn’t go to wet forest if she could avoid it. Have you heard anything from her? I know you two were close.”  
“You know Isabela. She was never one to settle down.” Hawke said, his jaw tensing. “But I have to talk with Seeker, now. She brought us here to chat with Divine, and now that it isn’t an option, I have to decide what to do next, and whether Kirkwall needs us more than Inquisition.”  
“It’s your call, Hawke, as always. I think you are a good viscount, but you could be a fine Inquisitor, too.”  
“I have my plate full enough as it is. Besides, you were the one who told Herald that these kind of stories never end well for heroes.”  
“Hawke!” the Herald hurried to them. “I need you two for a mission. Fen’Harel asked for my help.”

 

Renaste Trevelyan had never seen Fen’Harel as anxious as now. But she had not known that Fen’Harel had a friend, much less that one could be friends with a spirit. The man was an enigma. It was said that the elves had special connection to Fade, and that was why magisters had sacrificed so many in their attempt to break into Golden City. Maybe it was true.

“I heard my friend’s cry of help in my sleep. It must have been disturbed by a rift, and pulled through against its will.” Fen’Harel explained. There were dark shadows under his eyes. “We should search this area in northwest. Near the lakes close to Gherlen’s pass.”  
“Come on.” Renaste shouted to Hawke and Varric who followed them towards stables. Thanks to their recent efforts in Hinterlands, the Inquisition had horses now. The former Champion of Kirkwall said something about Varric’s short legs, grinning, while the dwarf cursed and tried his best to keep up.  
“This is not time for idle jokes.” Fen’Harel snarled, anger burning in his eyes. “Your kind clearly can’t comprehend the gravity of situation, or what will be lost if you don’t hurry.”   
“You mean your friend?” Renaste asked, wanting to be supportive.  
“This world can ill afford losing even one spirit of Wisdom.” Fen’Harel said, mounting a horse with practiced ease. “It has been my friend and a trusted guardian for a long time.”  
“I will do anything to help you and your friend.” Renaste swore.   
She couldn’t help but be charmed by Fen’Harel’s vast knowledge, his quiet confidence and a hint of mystery behind his mask, but she had unhappy feeling that her crush was hopeless. How could one get closer to a person who rarely told anything about himself? This was second time ever Fen’Harel had asked anything of her, and finding an artefact to strengthen the Veil wasn’t exactly a personal favor. So when he had approached her with a request for help, Renaste had jumped at opportunity, dropping everything. She had conscripted Varric and Garrett Hawke to accompany them, because those two happened to be first two persons she had laid her eyes on after leaving Fen’Harel’s cottage, and she wanted to leave immediately.

 

After long ride from Haven to northwest, they were finally there. Renaste could see herself valiantly vanquishing the rebel mages who had imprisoned Fen’Harel’s spirit companion, and how his eyes would warm with happiness when she released his poor friend... It would be just like in Swords and Shields, but better! Surely when they kissed, little wisps would appear and throw golden sparkles over them, just like in a book Leliana had told Renaste about. As a bard, Leliana knew all best stories about elves.  
They crossed the ridge, and Renaste heard Fen’Harel cursing.   
“My friend!” he cried out, and the party saw a huge Pride demon imprisoned inside a summoning circle

Wanting to salvage something, anything, Renaste had ordered Hawke and Varric to attack the stones of summoning circle as Fen’Harel instructed. The mark on her hand was twitching. It was not violent, burning sensation like with rifts, but it was definitely uncomfortable. She would have to ask Fen’Harel to look at it after the fight was over.  
She could do nothing but stare when the last pillar broke, and the Pride demon transformed into feminine form. Fen’Harel kneeled by her side, asking something frantically in elvish. The spirit’s voice was peculiar, weaker than leaves in wind, and it nodded, replying in same language.   
“Ir abelas, lethallin. Ma halani Iveani.” it whispered.   
Then the spirit slowly dissolved into nothingness.

Fen’Harel stood up, glaring at the mages.   
“You summoned my friend. You bound it, and then forced it to act against its nature.”  
“I’m expert in summoning spirits. My connection to Fade is very strong; my first cousin is a fifth-generation elf!” a mage exclaimed. “Where did you buy a pair of such natural-looking sharp ears? From Val Royeaux?”  
“Don’t you dare to talk about elves to me!” Fen’Harel snarled and he called upon his magic before Renaste had time to tell him to stop.   
As Renaste watched the mages being suffocated by Veil, she felt unwell. The elven mastery of magic didn’t look romantic at all. Fen’Harel spat on the ground, muttering something in melodious language.   
“What was that?” Renaste asked in shaking voice.  
“May the nature suffocate you with the air wasted in your breaths.” Fen’Harel said with a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth upwards. It wasn’t nice at all. “An old elvhen insult.”  
“I understand you are upset for what happened to your friend.” Renaste tried to guide the discussion along the path she vastly preferred. Romantic rescue would have been great, but she could offer compassion and comfort as well. “I’m so sorry. Can I help you in any way?”  
“I... need some time alone. You should go back to Haven.” Fen’Harel told her and strode off, not sparing even a glance at her.  
Renaste stood on the riverbank, feeling like an idiot. This had not gone according to her plan.   
“Well, shit.” Varric said. She could not have described the situation better.

 


	7. A rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iveani makes a Rumpelstiltskin deal.

After Wisdom left, Iveani had to admit herself that it was not going well. She had no idea of where she was, or where she was going. The fake elves she had met had spoken common, and she could place the different mountain ranges of Thedas on a map, but all of them were filled with snow and ice once the traveler got high enough. And it wasn’t like it made any difference to Iveani whether she was lost in Vimmark mountain range or in Frostbacks between Ferelden and Orlais. The names were just words to her.

Cold mist hang around her, and she shivered despite the warmth spell. Magic was much harder on this side of the Veil, and not having chance to rest and regain her mana was taking its toll. She had slept few fretful hours curled in a small niche on a mountainside, but it had done her little good.

If she was in Frostbacks, like she suspected based on the climate on foothills, she remembered the mountains ranged from Waking Sea in north to uncharted territories of south. Frostbacks, according to Brother Genitivi’s writings, were filled with several rodent species, owls, mountain goats and Avvar tribes. But the writer claimed that the larger predator species like crag wolves, wild brontos and dragons were the ones to beware. She didn’t want to be eaten by a bronto.

It would have been wise choice to stay put and wait for Wisdom to get Fen’Harel. But if Fen’Harel caught her, he would be angry and take her back to prison. He knew all her spells, having taught Iveani all she knew. All that she had was given to her by Fen’Harel, and she had no hope of victory. She could not bear a thought of another small room. Fen’Harel would be so angry that he might stop visiting her entirely, and take away Wisdom as well for its failure to watch her. Iveani was certain that she would eventually go mad in solitude.

Iveani stifled a sob. Crying was a bad idea, because her eyelashes froze and it was hard to see. She looked at the next mountain, feeling hollow, and put one feet after another. There was nothing else she could do.

 

Iveani had lost all sense of time and direction. In the darkness, one mountain looked much like another, and snow was falling just the same. Her teeth were chattering again, and the emptiness inside her stomach was getting insistent. She had tried eating snow when she felt thirsty, but it only made her feel colder.   
Iveani had seen a pack of crag wolves some time ago, and pulling the Veil around herself to hide from them had taken too much energy. Walking felt tiresome, and when she stumbled on a rock and fell down, getting up was too hard. She should rest for a bit before continuing. Just for a moment. The wind was howling in her ears, but snow felt almost warm against her face. It was quite nice. She would rest a moment longer…

She felt snowflakes falling through her failing barrier spell, and understood that if she didn’t get up soon, she would fall asleep and die. Rising to her knees, Iveani crawled forwards, but got only a bit further before her strength was spent and she fell face down on the snow again. She promised herself three breaths’ worth of rest, and then she crawled forwards again.

Three breaths turned to four, and then to five. She didn’t even try to stand up, because it would have only hurt more to fall from standing position. She had hit her face on a stone few rounds ago, and the blood felt warm on her skin.

Iveani knew it was over when she saw a dragon landing in front of her. She slumped on a snow, hoping that creature would think she was already dead. Dragons preferred live prey, Fen’Harel had said. They were picky predators.

Three, four, five breaths. On seventh breath, her eyes closed.   
“My, my. What a stubborn girl you are.” an old woman’s voice said. Something – a boot – nudged her, turning Iveani around. Her dimming eyes stared at old human woman who had yellow eyes and oddly arranged white hair. It looked like horns.   
“I will die before I go back.” Iveani whispered.   
Her teeth were no longer chattering for some reason, but it was very hard to utter words.   
“And what good it will do to you?” the woman asked. “I’ve seen my share of proud people dying in a snow. Those who are less proud, yet far more reasonable, admit their failure and ask for help when they need it.”  
Iveani considered it. The old woman was wearing an armor. She had a very warm-looking dark green cloak on her shoulders. It was lined with fur. She made up her mind.   
“Help.”, her lips moved but there was no sound.   
The woman seemed to hear anyway, because she smiled, and pulled Iveani up from the snow. She put the cloak around Iveani’s shoulders.   
“The people often spend too long asking what I want in return. I don’t bother to save those who can’t make up their minds.” the old woman said conversationally, holding Iveani up against herself as she walked on snow. She was surprisingly strong for an old lady, and left no footprints at all.   
“The cost hardly matters if another option is dying.” Iveani said. The warmth was flooding inside her, and her teeth had started chattering again.   
“It’s good to see you have some common sense after all. I was starting to doubt it, watching you for last four days.”  
“Who are you?” Iveani asked. She stumbled again, and would have fallen, if not for the old woman’s iron grip around her.   
“This time, you can call me Flemeth.” the woman said. “I will save your life and take you to a sheltered place. In return, next time we meet, I expect you to call me what I am. This is the price for my help. Don’t tell Fen’Harel that we’ve met, and learn my true name. ”   
“Fen’Harel? How do you know about Fen’Harel?”  
“I know him well. Fen’Harel is one of those men who hold their regrets so close to their heart that it poisons their souls.”  
She slumped against Flemeth’s armor, so exhausted that her eyes were closing even though she didn’t want to. But Flemeth held Iveani and didn’t let her fall. It made her feel safe, warm, and protected even though she didn’t know anything about the strange human woman.  
“Where did the dragon go?” she muttered as the darkness swallowed her.  
Flemeth’s laughter was rich and amused. It was the last sound Iveani remembered.

 


	8. A fruit of leafless tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iveani gets caught.

Iveani woke up in a ruined stone hall. A bright blue sky was visible through a hole in roof high above her. The floor was covered with fallen boards, bird droppings and all kinds of filth. But she was warm, almost toasty in Flemeth’s fur-lined cloak. The old woman was nowhere to be seen.

There were wide, wooden doors on opposite end of the broken hall. She walked over abandoned yard, where decayed wooden buildings still stood. They looked like storage rooms of some sort. But the keep around her was massive. It was built from giant boulders of stone, and although plaster was falling off from several spots, the walls still stood. She was in a fortress. And there wasn’t a single living soul with her.

Opening her senses to magic, Iveani picked her way carefully through the rubbish and fallen stones on the yard, descending old stairs to lower courtyard. There was a small garden, where a leafless tree stood. A single red apple was still hanging from dead branches. Iveani thought it odd anything grew there at all. She had seen a glimpse of scenery on the other side of the ramparts. Snowy mountains stretched in every direction, and the garden had clearly been untended for a very long time. Maybe centuries, even.

She picked the apple from a tree, and bit down. The first bite was extremely bitter, almost making her gag, but there was nothing else to eat and she was hungry. Iveani forced herself to swallow the bitter fruit. She got used to taste rather quickly, because the second bite was a bit better, or at least bearable. Probably the apple had been bitten by frost, because more she ate, the sweeter the fruit tasted.

 

Iveani had just finished eating her apple, when she saw movement from the upper courtyard. A man was walking down the stairs, clearly searching for something. His long dreadlocks were tied together with a piece of leather, and she knew the moment he saw her, because his expression changed into fury. Fen’Harel.  
  
Iveani’s eyes widened, and she started to run towards the stairs on opposite side of the garden. But he was faster. Fen’Harel’s form blurred when he stepped through the Fade, appearing in front of her. Iveani turned around, trying to sprint away. When she felt him grabbing her cloak, she shed it without second thought, fleeing. But Fen’Harel caught her by her hair, yanking forcefully. Iveani cried out when she felt the strands tearing from her scalp, but she wasn’t going to go back to prison for something as stupid as her looks.  She gathered her mana, and blasted Fen’Harel with pure energy from Beyond. There were brown strands of hair in his fist, and he reflected her own spell back to Iveani. He was much faster than her, and she could scarcely get her barriers up in time.

“Wisdom died.” Fen’Harel said mercilessly as he walked to face her. Iveani dropped the spell she was preparing, and felt the acute pang of a loss in first time of her life.  
“How?” she asked. Wisdom could not be dead. It was her... It was only constant thing she had ever known.  
“A group of mages summoned it. Twisted it against its purpose.” Fen’Harel snarled. “The strain was too much, and I couldn’t save Wisdom.”  
“I’m so sorry.” Iveani said helplessly.  
“It is your fault!” Fen’Harel roared.  
She was completely unprepared when the Veil beneath her feet shook violently, making her fall. Iveani hit her head against the lonely tree, and for a moment, there were black dancing spots on her vision.  
“It would not have happened if not for you!” Fen’Harel loomed over her, shouting. “You endangered yourself, and Wisdom, and look what happened! Wisdom died! Even if it manifests again, it will not be the same, and I doubt there will be any spirits of Wisdom in a world filled with shemlen.”  
“You both lied to me.”, Iveani screamed back at him. “You lied about the world, and the People! I’m not your prisoner, and I will never go back there again! I will die first!”  
Something what she had just said made all color vanish from Fen’Harel’s face.  
“Don’t you dare to say those words to me! Not you, of all people!" he yelled. Throwing his staff away, he sat on Iveani. “You will not die on me. Is that clear?”  
“You are not my father.” she spat on his face. “You can’t give me orders.”  
She must have said something wrong again, because Fen’Harel only got angrier.  
“This is how you repay my mercy? You run away despite my clear orders, and cause death of my only friend. Then you spit on me. A true daughter of your father, indeed. “  
Fen’Harel kissed her, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.  
“Ouch! What in the Void was that for?” Iveani was starting to get mad, too.  
“You are mine. I spared you. I _saved_ you. “  
“I’m not yours.” she hissed. “I belong to myself.”  
“It’s good to hear you have learned something I tried to teach you.” Fen’Harel said, throwing his shirt away. He pulled off his trousers, and Iveani saw he was already hard.  
“I’m not going to go to Fade with you.” she said angrily. “If you think that trying to trick me with sex will make me go back to my prison, you are sorely mistaken. I’m not some foolish, swooning woman from Swords and Shields.”  
“Who said anything about Fade?” Fen’Harel asked, arching his eyebrows. He took a hold from the neckline of Iveani’s short-sleeved dress, and yanked. There was a sound of ripping fabric.  
“I searched for you for days. Your room is ruined by a rift. I can’t take you back there, not before the rifts have been healed and I get my orb back.” Fen’Harel told her. His mouth sought her neck, grazing her skin lightly with his teeth just the way she liked it. Iveani felt warmth starting to pool between her legs, and she attempted to push him off. She didn’t want to feel pleased. She wanted to be angry.  
“Let me leave.” Iveani said to Fen’Harel, trying her best to ignore his skilled mouth sucking her nipples. Her dress was ruined beyond repair. She shuddered when he slid his hand down between her legs, and Fen’Harel knew it. He knew all her tells.  
“I won’t.”, he shook his head. “You will not leave me to die alone. As long as you live, I have not failed.”  
There was something sharp yet vulnerable in his eyes, like a broken edge of a glass. Iveani felt bad seeing him like this. He was distraught over Wisdom’s death, she understood, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t take spirit’s death on her conscience. No matter how important Wisdom had been to them both.  
“I’m sorry for Wisdom, Fen’Harel. “  
“Being sorry isn’t enough.” he warned her, pushing her legs apart. “I can’t lock you away now, but there are other ways to bind you. We are on other side of the Veil, now. Flesh is different than Fade. Here it’s real.”  
He pushed, and a sudden cry of pain escaped Iveani’s lips when she felt unexpected, tearing pain inside her. She tried to squirm away, but Fen’Harel was on top of her, moving within her and she couldn’t get away.  
Iveani didn’t remember any pain from the Fade. Or the feeling of his cock stretching her.  
“You are hurting me!”, Iveani flinched, her face twisting. Sex on this side of Veil was wrong. It was not like she remembered it, not at all.  
“All transitions hurt, ma lath.” Fen’Harel told her. Iveani could see the leafless tree looming over them, as she tried to swallow her tears of pain, hiccupping.

He made her writhe with his skilled fingers, and laughed with glee as her orgasm made her so wet that he got pushed out.  
“Watch.”, he commanded, lifting her legs to his shoulders. “Watch.”  
She saw his cock moving in and out of her, filling her. And then he started to move faster, ever faster. She gasped in pain, feeling sore. She rocked her hips, trying to dodge, but he kept her in place.  
“Not yet.” he told, nipping her ear. And he continued, making her feel full, and then he suddenly spasmed, spreading warmth inside her. He laid down on her, satisfied and heavy and smug.  
“It’s far harder to proclaim independence when your cunt is dripping with my seed, love, and your thighs are wet with want. I know you far better than you know yourself.” he whispered in her ear. “You didn’t ask me to stop, not once. How can you ever be free if you don’t even know your own mind?”

She feared his words were true, and she bit her lip not to cry.


	9. A leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leash can be pulled from both ends.

The lights shone invitingly through the stained glass windows of main tower, but the old woman ignored the unspoken call. She turned towards the garden, feeling her way forwards in the darkness. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder why men were such fools. Idiots. They thought they were valiant champions acting for the sake of a woman, and only ended up earning their lady’s wrath.   
Although the years had changed this place, she still remembered the way to leafless tree she had once planted here as a gift for him. Her hands had been trembling for anticipation, for sheer monumentality of that action. Fate loved irony. Flemeth had seen proof of that more times than she could count. And her theory was proved right once again as she saw her youngest curled on the ground under the tree, sobbing soundlessly.

Flemeth shook her head. She would have preferred screams, or shouts. When this one had been little, she had a terrible temper. Flemeth didn’t want to know why or when she had learned not to make noise when she cried. Sighing, she knelt on the ground, cursing her aching knees. Cold was not good for these old bones.   
“I don’t know your name yet. I didn’t have time—“, Iveani looked up, her eyes welling with tears.  
“Hush, child.” she said gently. “Hush.”  
Iveani let out a small, pitiful wail and all but climbed on her lap. The girl reminded her of a strangling vine. It was good, Flemeth thought as she gently stroked her child’s brown hair. She appreciated the species. If there were more strangling wines and less men in the world, it would be far better place.

“Men are like horses the humans use to pull wagons.” Flemeth told her daughter some time later, when Iveani had stopped crying for long enough to show interest in practical matters, like putting on what remained of her clothes before she froze to death. Wrapped in her fur cloak, she sat glued on Flemeth’s side, both of them leaning against the garden wall.   
“They are stubborn, prone to bite the one riding them, and mostly blind to their surroundings. The only useful bit hangs between their legs, and horses, just like men, tend to think with their dicks instead of their brain. And if you stop riding after you fall, you’ll never master one.” Flemeth advised. “You should get back to saddle as soon as you can.”  
“He hurt me.”, she sniffed. “On purpose. The words were the worst.”  
“Life is full of hurts. People hurt each other all the time, especially in these matters.” Flemeth said.   
“But I can feel him inside my mind.” Iveani whispered. “It’s a faint echo, like a memory imprinted in the Fade. I know where he is, how far he is, every waking moment. His anger, sorrow, pain echoes even through the walls.”  
“It’s a blessing meant for lovers.” Flemeth said. “Lay with you lover beneath Mythal’s tree, and the goddess will grant you a boon so you could better please one another. Partake the fruit, and you shall be given understanding.”  
“The fruit?” Iveani sounded upset. “Is that why the apple tasted so bitter? But love shouldn’t be bitter.”  
“One doesn’t choose one’s heart. One doesn’t question if he needs a heart, or whether he hates it or loves it. He simply has it beating inside his chest, or he dies. “, Flemeth told her gravelly. “You would do well to remember this, child.”  
“There was only one apple.” Iveani wiped her eyes. “I ate it whole before he arrived.”  
“I don’t see any reason for all this weeping. He invoked a bond of lovers to bind you, but a leash can be pulled from both ends. He might know where you are, but your thoughts and feelings will still be your own. His… Not so much. Especially if you spend enough time strengthening the bond.”  
“Yes.” Iveani said slowly. Her violet eyes were dark and there was a malicious glint.   
“Sex, blood and magic. It’s always such a ruinous combination. One needs only to wait for fireworks.” Flemeth sighed, shaking her head lightly.

\--

It had been quite long time since he had been at Tarasyl’an Tel’as. Fen’Harel’s memories about the place were conflicted. It had been his home, the seat of his power. But it had also been the stage where he had committed his greatest mistake which had cost everything. He knew it did no good to dwell on things long gone. What was lost, would not return, no matter how long he stared at his abandoned meal on the table.

The eerie moonlight shone through the broken windows, and Fen’Harel massaged his temples, trying to dodge impeding headache. Iveani’s quiet presence in the back of his mind did nothing to improve his wistful mood. He remembered too vividly what this was supposed to be like. What it had been like. When Mythal had planted the three as a gift for him, Fen’Harel had spent a century watching it grow, waiting. They had been good years. Sweet with plans and promises. Now in hindsight, it was ridiculously easy to see that all plans had been his. Never theirs. And he wondered if Mythal had ever truly planned to leave the lout.

His unhappy thoughts were interrupted by small change in new, still uncomfortable bond which informed him that Iveani was approaching the central tower which Fen’Harel had claimed for himself. It had been the private dwelling of some Fereldan dog lord, he assumed. The room was large enough to be comfortable, and the spare furnishings were in better shape than elsewhere in the keep but the giant, dusty bed was decorated with mabari motifs. They made him think of Keeper Gisharel’s stupid story about coarser hound.

The door opened, and Iveani slipped in. Her expression was hollow, her eyes rimmed with red, but at least she wasn’t crying. Fen’Harel grimaced internally. He had done a number on her dress; it had to be replaced before they could leave Skyhold.   
“What did you do?” she asked, leaning against the door frame.   
“I’m not to blame.” he said, spreading his hands in innocent gesture.   
“You lie.” Iveani said with certainty.   
Fen’Harel was surprised, and not in a good way. He had not expected her to be... so acute in this. But the tree had been dead; there were no fruits to partake. Maybe it was her blood. Had to be. Mythal’s tree, Mythal’s child. Who knew what hidden gifts she inherited from her mother?   
“Explain, Fen’Harel.” Iveani demanded.  
“Very well. Before dog lords built an ugly keep here, this place was called Tarasyl’an Tel’as. It was a place of power very familiar to me, and my brethren. The ground here is soaked in magic.” Fen’Harel began. “You gave yourself to me under a tree sacred to Mythal. The People revered her as a goddess of motherhood and justice, but also of love. In Elvhenan, lovers prayed Mythal. And she granted them an echo, a bond, so they could better please one another.”   
“Or you could spy inside my mind.” Iveani’s words were bitter. “Far better prison than Fade, isn’t it?”  
“If you left, I would know which direction you went to. I can sense your anger, the strongest emotions you have. But sadly, I can’t tell what you think.”   
“How long it lasts?” she asked.   
“I don’t know. It could be weeks, years, maybe even centuries. You bled, and it complicates things. Traditionally, virgin blood was a sacrifice to Mythal, a transition from a girl to a woman.”  
“Fenedhis lasa.” Iveani cursed, staring at Fen’Harel.  
“It is one thing which could help.” he grinned. The joke was too well suited to let pass, even though he generally didn’t appreciate people swearing by wolf’s dick.   
“Generally, spells run for set amount of time or until conditions are met. And this particular spell was meant to assure a maiden would have a lover attentive to her needs.” Fen’Harel kept his words light as he skirted around the truth.   
He wasn’t _lying_ , not exactly. But stronger bond meant more knowledge. He had known she wanted to see the world, but he had not expected she would do something as foolhardy as escape through a rift. Fen’Harel had a nagging feeling that he didn’t know his prisoner as well as he should have, and he had intention to learn. After all, not knowing one’s divine counterpart well enough had caused the downfall of Elvhenan’s last ruling couple.   
“I will consider it.”, Iveani said coolly.  
Fen’Harel turned his attention back to plate of food and hid his smile behind a cup of water.

\--

“Ten days are hardly enough to claim a new bride, but I’m afraid my duties call me elsewhere. The Inquisition must be guided to right path.”, Fen’Harel told her one morning when she laid on his chest, exhausted. “I apologize for dishonouring you in such way. After my task with Inquisition is finished, we should enjoy each other properly.”  
Her sex was still throbbing from her last orgasm, and the memory of riding him with wild abandon was fresh in her mind.   
“If you think you can put me back in a prison, you are mistaken.” Iveani said, burying her face against his neck. She was feeling tired. The first time had been unpleasant, but lately she had started enjoying the pleasures of flesh. Like Fen’Harel had said, it was different than in the Fade.   
“Besides, I’m not your bride.” she added with yawn.   
“You have grown teeth after you ran away.” Fen’Harel noted with amusement. “But denial doesn’t change facts.”  
“Your facts are outdated.” she informed him, raising her head to look him in the eyes. “A bit of sex outside the Fade doesn’t change anything, Mythal’s tree or not. I’ve read that these days, all bonds require two consenting parties. Not just some blood and magic. For me, you are just a very convenient way to pass time.”  
She smiled down at him like an arrogant, benevolent god, and Fen’Harel didn’t know if he was thrilled or repulsed. His mind reeled a bit as he wondered if it was the blood running in her veins, or merely confidence brought by new knowledge. Sex was a form of power, and she was starting to grasp the concept very fast. Women usually learned it quicker and better than men. Even though his mind was doubtful, his treacherous cock was definitely thrilled. It had no concept of equality, freedom or personal rights, and if she announced that she was going to tie him in a tree, he would probably let her, and come undone immediately.   
“Are you spouting some Dalish mumbo jumbo at me?” Fen’Harel asked, turning her attention away from tree before she got any ideas. “You can’t disdain your own legacy simply because it doesn’t suit you.”  
“Why not? If we are only ones left, what does it matter? As far as I know, you could be lying to me again.” Iveani replied.   
“Such doubts you have. I’m hurt.” Fen’Harel replied with a crooked smile, running his hands along the sides of her body. He cupped her ass, pulling her upwards for a kiss.   
“You can’t expect me to agree on something you haven’t cared to explain.” she said after the kiss ended.   
“Very well.” he sighed in defeat. His hands slipped downwards, pulling her thighs wide, and securing them on either side of his legs.   
“You are wonderful spread open like this, ma lath.” he remarked idly as he started stroking her. “I think our departure will be delayed. But the premise is very simple. After I woke after my long sleep, you were the only one remaining who is worth my attention. Originally, it was not my intent to have you, but you grew up so pretty and elvhen. Who was I to oppose when you grew curious and gave me that first shy kiss? I had taught you everything else, why not this? After all, the Fade does not count.”  
Her breathing became faster under his diligent attentions on her nub.   
“And then, when you escaped, I became worried. And angry. I don’t want to die alone. I need you to need me, but you didn’t. You didn’t even try to search for me, and ignored Wisdom’s advice like an arrogant god, thinking that you knew better. It cost Wisdom’s life.” his touch grew merciless. “I lost my temper. And you felt exquisite impaled on my cock. Those little whimpers you make. Yes. Just like that.”  
“The stories of Dalish madmen like Keeper Gisharel are exaggerated. Somewhat.” Fen’Harel said, drawing out another gasp from her. “But all of our kin are selfish. Possessive. And you are too valuable for shemlen to ruin. You are only thing I have left from my old world. I will not take chance that some idiot, who doesn’t understand what he has, kills you or corrupts your mind with stupid stories about my history. You will accompany me to Haven, but not until you have learned what I need you to know among Inquisition.”  
“What is it?” she asked, frustrated and teased on the brink of orgasm. She writhed to make it somehow bearable, and Fen’Harel smiled.   
“That you are mine.” he told her.   
“That is what you think.” she snapped, her violet eyes shining with wrath and lust and more than a bit of anger. She looked every inch a goddess who she was. Fen’Harel gripped her hips tightly, watched how her back arched as she impaled herself on his cock, and revelled in knowledge that unlike the mother, daughter was only his.

And when they finally finished, Fen’Harel wondered if Iveani was insecure enough to seek him in a world full of humans, or if stronger incentive was required. Iveani had to need him as much as he needed her, and he had to chain her down somehow, without provoking another dangerous bout of independence.   
Even if he found her disobedience thrilling. It had been a long time since anyone had tried to resist him.

But Dread Wolf only played for victory, and Iveani could not hope to win. She was too important for him to allow her to walk away. Without Iveani guarding against his fear of dying alone, Iveani existing as a hostage to  if he ever needed to consider undoing his great work, who knows what kind of sad and boring, old bald man he might have become. Fen’Harel much preferred himself the way he was.

 

 


	10. Enochlophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel and Iveani travel to Haven.

The trek back towards Haven was slow. Iveani still wasn’t used to walking long distances, and they usually got distracted during a break. Fen’Harel didn’t mind, although the journey took twice as long as he had estimated. He had told her the truth when he apologized not for being able to give her proper attention. In Elvhenan, he once spent three Ages with a woman whose name he had forgotten, and one’s divine counterpart deserved far more than insignificant elvhen who had caught his fancy momentarily.

Fen’Harel knew that Iveani’s feelings towards him were conflicted, and there was a resentment in her eyes which had not been there before. But he had hardly expected anything else after he hunted her down. Fen’Harel would have taken her back to her prison immediately, but as long as Veil was compromised, it was not safe. The second-best option was keeping her on his side and opting for physical closeness and sex, because it served to strengthen emotional ties. It was hard for Iveani to distance herself from a man who drowned her in pleasure each night. No matter what she said, she made no attempt to leave, and after the pain of her deflowering passed, Iveani had started to seek his companionship with unrivalled focus. Other races could simply not compete with single-minded determination of true elvhen when they devoted themselves to a task, and he pitied humans for not being ever able to understand what they lacked. Fen’Harel quite enjoyed her, even though her goal was to exhaust Mythal’s spell, and she made no secret of it.

But all good things come to an end, and one evening Fen’Harel saw the silhouette of Haven in distance.   
“Things will be different in Haven.” he told Iveani. “The Herald is a bit spoiled, childish noblewoman called Renaste Trevelyan. She is nineteen years old.”  
“You haven’t ever told me how old I am.”, she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking stubborn. “How do you expect me to make conclusion based on someone’s age?”  
“A good point.” Fen’Harel admitted. “I don’t know how old you were when I found you. Your parents had kept you a secret, but you had just learned to walk and I couldn’t understand a word of your babbling. 3842 or 3483 years, I guess.”  
She looked taken aback.   
“Nobody lives that long.”, Iveani pointed out. “Not even the People, when there were elves.”  
“Shemlen don’t live that long, neither did the quickened ones, but elvhen are different matter entirely.” Fen’Harel corrected. “I’m two thousand years older than you, and like I have told you, you and I are the same.”  
“But the presence of so many humans… Won’t I be quickened, grow old and die?” Iveani asked uncertainly.  
“Company one keeps has nothing to do with quickening. It’s a simple matter of before and after. You were born before the Veil, so it won’t happen to you.”   
“Wasn’t Veil there always?” she asked.   
“It’s a long story, which takes more time than we have now.” he said. “We must focus on the Herald. I’m her advisor in all matters concerning Fade. It is of utmost importance that she trusts me and seeks my advice. We are seeking to regain an artefact which was stolen from me while we slept, and Inquisition can assist in that. The humans must not know what we want. For them, we are simply lending our assistance since the Breach threatens the whole world.”  
“Aren’t the humans dangerous?” Iveani asked, watching the lights of Haven. “There must be over a hundred of them, and only two of us. The ones I met were not friendly.”  
“It is true that even the ants can kill a snake. How would you prepare against the shemlen, then?” Fen’Harel asked, ever a teacher.  
Her answer was firm and ready.   
“With respect and awe. People beware what they can’t understand. If they think us far beyond their reach, above the common concerns and tasks, we become something else to them. Familiarity is a weakness.”  
“That would work with elvhen, ma lath. But these are shemlen. They are impatient, brutish, shallow creatures. Like children, they grow frustrated when they can’t understand, and instead of seeking knowledge as a way to better oneself, they lash out in anger. The shemlen burn and destroy senselessly. They are like cruel children picking off wings from a butterfly, just because they can. Any attempt to challenge their narrow way of thinking makes them angry, and that is when they become dangerous.” Fen’Harel warned. “Do you remember what they do to their mages? Anders of Kirkwall?”  
“Yes. The tranquil and how they leash their mages, tracking them with a drop of blood.” Iveani said. She felt unwell, just thinking of it.   
“Hide your strength. Be extremely careful. I will show you how to ignite your blood even from distance. If there is a battle, and you get hurt, you can’t leave a single drop of blood behind. There are ones even within Inquisition who would want nothing more than lock us both into Circle of Magi. Escaping one prison only to end up in far worse place is not what you want to do, Iveani.”  
“No, it isn’t. I’m afraid, Fen’Harel.” she admitted in a small voice.   
“I told you the world is not a place for you, ma lath.” he reminded her gently, pulling her into embrace.  
He felt Iveani’s fear through the bond, and was pleased. It was good. Fen’Harel wanted her to be afraid, to let her fear to pull her closer to him. He would offer comfort, and safety, and-  
“Fen’Harel. You are smug again.” Iveani said, sounding hurt.   
“I’m just pleased to hold you.” he said quickly. His answer was partially true, and it seemed to satisfy her, because she hugged him tightly. And Fen’Harel _was_ pleased to hold her. He stroked her brown hair with affection.   
“Would you leave me there?” Iveani asked, too anxious to remain silent. “With humans?”  
“No human will ever have you, ma lath.” he said, and the relief flooding through their bond told that Iveani believed him. “You are mine. I will keep you safe.”

\--

Iveani was extremely nervous when they started walking down to Haven. She gripped her stolen staff so hard that her knuckles turned white. Fen’Harel had acquired it for her at same time as the Avvar jacket and breeches she wore.   
“Halt!” somebody shouted in trade language as they reached the beginning of path leading to Haven. “Who comes there?”  
Without thinking, Iveani reached for Fen’Harel’s hand. He entwined his fingers with hers, warm and soothing.   
“The Herald’s Fade advisor.” Fen’Harel raised his voice to answer.  
A man in ugly green hood appeared. He was holding a bow, but when he saw them, he put the weapon down.   
“The elf?” he asked curiously.   
“Yes, the elf.” Fen’Harel replied, sounding fed up. “How perceptive of you.”  
Iveani fought an urge to giggle.   
“Wait. What’s that? Another elf? A female elf? Weren’t you all supposed to be extinct?”  
“Clearly that is not the case.” Fen’Harel said. “But I don’t have time to discuss self-evident truths with you. Go back to doing your rounds. I must see the Herald.”

She had never seen so many people at once. The shemlen were everywhere. There were shemlen making rounds in the camp, shemlen practicing with weapons, shemlen making more weapons, shemlen taking care of horses or just standing there. And they all stared at them. Especially at her. Iveani’s heart began to race, and she felt sweat rising to her brow. For all her life, she had only known Wisdom and Fen’Harel. This was nothing like it. The shemlen talked in their harsh language, the consonants hard and sharp in her ears, and the noise they made was so loud. Dozens of them at once, all speaking, yelling, and laughing at the same time.

The crowd was thickest at the wooden gates, and Fen’Harel’s mouth was a grim line as he pulled her towards them. Iveani didn’t want to go. The open path left to them was too narrow. Surely they couldn’t fit through the gates, not unless the shemlen moved aside.   
“Make way.” Fen’Harel snarled at humans, but they didn’t obey him. The shemlen were too close now, close enough to touch if she extended her hand. Iveani could smell the human sweat, and her breaths were coming too rapidly, now. It felt like she wasn’t getting enough air in her lungs, no matter how hard she tried. There were too many people. They stared at her, pointed fingers at her, laughed. Some of them sounded angry, others were curious. She was trying to keep an eye on them all at the same time, and it wasn’t working. The shemlen were constantly moving, switching places, scurrying like ants, and more of them just kept coming from buildings and paths. Iveani could no longer tell how many of them there were; every time she looked at someone to try to remember his features, a new face was staring over his shoulder. The shemlen were countless. It was like the flow of humans would never end, and it freaked her out. The sounds, smells, the furry faces of people were foreign, too different. She didn’t want this. It was too frightening. She wanted to go back to Tarasyl’an Tel’as.

A panic was building inside her, and the shemlen were still blocking the way forwards.   
“Make way!” Fen’Harel roared, and his voice was furious. Through the bond, a fierce urge to protect and defend splashed like a wave in Iveani’s mind, but she was too far gone to find comfort in it. Iveani was panting, trying to get enough air, but it wasn’t working. Her heart beat so fast now that she felt dizzy. But the shemlen finally obeyed, and they opened a narrow path, just a bit wider, for her and Fen’Harel to walk through.

They had almost gotten through the wooden gates. Iveani tried to keep her eyes on ugly mabari heads carved on poles. It was better than looking at shemlen. Someone with deep voice was calling Fen’Harel’s name.   
“Not now, Varric.” Fen’Harel snapped.  
She was almost shaking now, wanting to close her eyes, to put her hands on her ears to shut out the noise. Then Iveani felt a something brushing against her hair. Touching her. She looked on her right, and saw a shemlen with a pointy metal helmet grinning widely at her. He was missing a teeth.   
“Never seen a lady elf before.” he said, or at least she thought it was what she said, because suddenly another one was reaching to touch her, and more hands followed. Dozen shemlen, groping, scrabbling, arms extending, reaching for her like vines of some flesh-eating plant.   
“Fen’Harel!” she screamed in panic, her voice rising above them. She clung to his hand, but the shemlen were curious, and they were stronger. They swarmed around her like swarm of mosquitoes, pulling her hair, ripping her green cloak, poking, touching.   
“Fen’Harel!” Iveani’s hand slipped away from his. The crowd moved like it had a will of its own, and she could no longer even see him. She was pushed, poked, groped. The faces around her were shining with curiosity, eagerness like a wilful child with a new toy he wanted to break apart to see how it worked. She was crying hysterically now but they didn’t care about her distress.   
“I thought elves’ tears were drops of gold.”  
“Weren’t they all redheads? Why this one is brunette?”  
“She doesn’t have much tits.”  
“The hair smells like flowers, just like my grandma said.”  
“So soft.”  
“Touching an elf gives you good luck. Andraste keeps you alive in next battle for the sake of Shartan.”   
“Stop it. The poor thing is frightened.”  
“Groping one’s ass has to count for at least two battles.”  
“Are the ears sharp enough to prick a finger with?”

Some of them had sharp nails, and her skin already bloomed with bruises and scratches. The noise of shemlen chatting was getting even louder now. They were becoming eager, bloodthirsty, downright mean and rude. It was just like Fen’Harel had said, a nest of ants killing a snake. One of them was slipping a hand under her jacket. There were voices who told them to stop, but far more voices cheering them on.  
Then she heard a howl which shook the very stones of Haven, echoing from the gates. The mood of the crowd changed instantly, and some started screaming in panic. The crowd around her dissolved somewhat, and she saw a black wolf larger than a horse clearing it’s way to her. The wolf lunged on the shemlen who held her in place, his hand still under her jacket, and pushed the man on the ground before going for his throat. Iveani felt the warm blood spurting from artery as the wolf bit down, the red staining her clothes as well as wolf’s black fur. The wolf rattled its prey for few times before throwing the corpse against the gates. Then it walked a slow circle around her, watching the remaining shemlen with six red eyes. They scurried away like rats when the wolf growled at them.

Iveani sat down on the ground, putting her arms around Dread Wolf’s neck, and wept against the black fur. Her clothes were ruined, she was bleeding from numerous scratches and there were bruises all over her body. Flemeth’s green cloak was gone, probably stolen by shemlen.   
“Oh, shit.” the durgen’len with deep voice said, shaking his head as he put the crossbow down. “What a mess.”

 


	11. The undead cost double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald thinks a smelly boy belongs to stinky swamp.
> 
> Varric and Hawke hire a mage for Fallow Mire mission.

“Why does it feel so good, so good to be bad?” Garrett Hawke sang, scrubbing his back with a washing rag.   
“Cause if its trouble you are looking for, oh baby, here I am.”, Varric took up the next line with surprisingly nice bass as he entered the room, disturbing Hawke’s bath.  
“I didn’t know you can sing.”, Hawke noted.  
“I lived in a tavern, remember? We have a mission coming up, Killer.” Varric sat down on a stool. “The Herald wants you to go to Fallow Mire to search for missing soldiers. “  
“A cursed bog? Why? I’ve had my fill of walking dead.” Hawke frowned. “Did you tell Josephine I charge double for jobs which include undead?”  
“It’s complicated shit.” Varric said apologetically.  
“It’s always complicated. Just spill it out.”  
“Well, you remember when Chuckles took off after his spirit friend died? He came back yesterday evening.”  
“Why I haven’t heard anything about it?”  
“Probably because you started drinking after breakfast and passed out after midday. And then you had to sleep it off. While someone got to explain the Seeker why we can’t go to bog yet.” Varric said dryly.  
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But you were talking about Fen’Harel.”  
“Fen’Harel came back with a pretty young thing he calls his apprentice. A lady elf. She was clinging to him like a frightened doe straight from a forest. Put a dampener on a warm welcome Renaste had in mind.” Varric remarked.  
Hawke started to cackle.  
“Oh, this is priceless!”  
“Yeah, it was until the people in Haven got little too curious. There was a riot. You know that old soldiers’ proverb: touching an elf will make Andraste protect you in next battle for sake of Shartan, and fucking an elf ensures you die in your own bed.”  
“I’ve always thought it meant the elf murders you.” Hawke muttered, washing his armpits with soap.  
“Not funny, Hawke. I was there, and it wasn’t pretty. She was crying and screaming for Fen’Harel, who turned into big monstrous wolf and ripped a man’s throat open. The ensuing shouting match between Cassandra, Cullen and Fen’Harel was loud enough to wake up the dead. I was almost sure you would wake up, but then the Herald swooped in, scolded Cullen for not keeping proper order and declared how she simply had to talk with Fen’Harel about going to Val Royeaux to speak with Chantry mothers. ”  
“Let me guess. The Herald decided to take off to Val Royeaux early this morning with a party of herself, Fen’Harel and Cassandra. No apprentices allowed. Especially if they’re pretty elf ladies.” Hawke said sarcastically.  
“Yeah. They would have taken you too, but you wouldn’t even stir when the Herald tried to wake you up. Then she said you stank like old beer and would make bad impression of Inquisition.”  
“And I just _happened_ to get a job in smelly bog?” Hawke arched his eyebrows.  
“Yeah.” Varric shrugged. “It just _happened._ ”  
“I hate Free Marcher nobles.” Hawke grimaced.  
“You are a Free Marcher noble. A Viscount.”  
“You hate the Dwarven Merchants Guild.”, Hawke pointed out.  
“You got me there, Killer.” Varric admitted. “But I was thinking. If we have to go to bog, we could use a mage. And I think Chuckles’ apprentice would be eager to get out of Haven. I think the girl was having a full-blown panic attack with all those people staring at her when she arrived. You know. Rapid breathing, shaking, and all symptoms you get when—“  
“Shut up, Varric.” Hawke said. “Go talk to her. If she knows a barrier spell and doesn’t glow blue, she’s in.”

Hawke was tidying his beard in front of mirror when Varric returned.  
“That doesn’t look safe.” the dwarf said, looking at Hawke’s shaking hands. “Let me.”  
Hawke handed the razor to Varric. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t good with fine work before his first drink of the day. It had been so for some time, now.  
“Just remember I like having a beard. I don’t want to look like fresh-faced youth.” Hawke reminded. “What did the apprentice say?”  
“She said she will come, but on one condition. She wants her cloak back.”  
“What am I? Lost and found?” Hawke asked irritably.  
“This is right up in your valley, Killer. She lost it in the attack I told you about. I asked around and apparently the shining example of Chantry member called Sister Tanner took it. I know the type. Probably plans to make good money selling pieces to soldiers as good luck talismans. I need you to bully good Sister into returning her stolen goods.” Varric said.  
“I’m always up to making few threats before dinner.” Hawke announced. “Just point me at right direction.”

 

Half an hour later Hawke and Varric returned from the Chantry. Hawke had a green fur-lined cloak neatly folded on his arm.  
“I think she peed in her pants when you asked if she has ever seen a qunari technique of stringing intestines while the victim is still alive.” Varric mused.  
“I was quite good, wasn’t I?” Hawke asked. “Old-fashioned bullying works so much better than diplomacy. But I thought elves had fancier clothes. This looks like something a Chasind barbarian would wear. Especially the swan feathers. Used to see a lot of them around Lothering.”  
Then it occurred to Hawke that Varric was leading them towards wrong direction. Fen’Harel’s cabin was near inn, and Varric was walking towards gates.  
“Why are we heading this way?” Hawke asked. “I thought she was staying at Fen’Harel’s. We could grab something from the inn.”  
“I told her to meet us at the stables. Master Dennett has horses ready for us, and I got rations from the kitchen. We’ll just eat on the road.” Varric said good-naturedly.  
Hawke gave him a dark glance. He knew the dwarf had arranged this on purpose. But calling Varric out on this would only earn him another unnecessary discussion about drinking too much. Hawke didn’t drink too much. He simply had trouble sleeping after the mess with Leandra, and whole business with Anders had only made things worse. And now he would have shaking hands, a headache and bad dreams tonight, simply because Varric thought he was being clever. By Maferath’s hairy arse. Sometimes Hawke truly wondered why he put up with Varric.

He was so pissed off that he barely noticed a small woman almost hiding behind a horse.  
“Here we are. Are you ready to go?” Varric waved at her.  
A group of people working in the smithy had mostly stopped doing anything, they merely watched her with curiosity.  
“Yes.”, the elf replied.  
Hawke thought she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the Inquisitor. He liked his women blonde and regal. Based on stories, one would expect elf to be breath-taking sight, but this one was just odd. Maybe those Tevinter magisters of tales had unhealthy taste in bed companions? It was true that Fen’Harel didn’t look like human with pointed ears, either, but the difference was starker with her. The high nose bridge and large irises were alien, and she didn’t have any breasts or hips to speak of. Looked like a swing of two-handed sword could cut her into two. Not a good thing for a mage. They all were so mushy in battle. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at least this one didn’t glow blue like Hawke’s last mage.  
Hawke stepped forwards and handed the green bundle to her.  
“Here’s your cloak. Do you know a barrier spell? Any fighting experience?” he asked.  
“No.”, she said. “But I know the spell.”  
Hawke sighed. Just his luck. A novice mage.  
“All right. Stay back, don’t get killed, and when you see anything approaching, put a barrier on us. Better to feel fool for shielding against rabbits and foxes than be a trusting fool. Those end up dead.”  
“I will remember that. “, the apprentice nodded.  
“Good. Let’s get going, then.” Hawke said gruffly and mounted his horse.  
Behind him, he heard Varric starting a conversation. But Hawke had a hangover, and he was not on the mood for a chat. So he prodded his horse and started towards the south road, trusting the others would follow. Eventually.

 


	12. Fallow Mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Varric and Iveani travel to Fallow Mire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banishing is from Black Vials Codex. In the Fade, there wasn't nothing else to do except read.

The apprentice had been very quiet, almost shy for the whole journey towards Fallow Mire. Hawke wasn’t sure if he had heard her saying a single world before the third night when he once again woke up screaming. She was watching him from her bedroll, her eyes glowing unnaturally in the darkness. If Varric hadn’t taken his sword away on the first night when nightmares started, there might have been an accident.  
“I could make it stop.” she said. “I know the arts of _I've'an'virelan and Ladarelan'elgar._ I could walk with you through your dream and mend your spirit. _”_  
“No. No magic.” Hawke croaked, shaking his head violently. He was sweating, and his heart raced. Oh, Maker. He hated sleeping. The moment he closed his eyes, he was again in the depths of Darktown, seeing a locket on the dirty floor.  
“If you continue like this, it will eventually kill you.” the woman stated in neutral voice. “Trying to drown your dreams with wine and ale helps only for a night. It strains your body, and poisons it as surely as your nightmares poison your soul. What will you do after your hands shake too badly to hold a weapon? You would be defenceless, a prey to every fear you face on this side of Veil.”  
“I don’t care. No magic!” Hawke turned to stare daggers at her. “It’s none of your business what I do.”  
“It isn’t.”, she agreed. “If you want to stay in a prison crafted from your dreams and die, it is your choice.”  
She laid down on her bedroll and turned her back at Hawke, quickly falling asleep.

Hawke listened for Varric’s snoring until the morning stars dawned on sky, and on the next day, he stopped at nearest village and bought whatever alcohol they had. It was homemade and there were bits of turnip floating on brown surface, but it would give him sleep next night. Varric looked unhappy, but Hawke didn’t care.

 

Fallow Mire was even more depressing than Hawke had expected. It was wet and miserable.  
“We have marked the rifts on the map so you can avoid them.” Scout Harding explained to Hawke. “And what information we have of the Avvar camp. Also, we picked up a journal full of mad scribblings. Apparently there is an abomination somewhere in the bog.”  
“I’ll deal with it.”, Hawke groaned before Harding had a chance to ask. He knew she was going to ask, so why to bother with whole discussion? Sooner they got this done and over with, sooner he could get out of rain.  
“Thank you, serah.” Harding nodded with respect.  
Taking the journal, Hawke sloshed through the water to others. He just knew he was going to hate this job.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Hawke yelled as the Revenant pulled him by magic towards creature’s sword. “Apprentice! If you could do something, it would be great.”  
He tried not to get impaled while he waited for his barrier, when chanting started behind his back.  
“Let the dead no longer serve your whim.  
Bound by your true name, no mortal hand shall reach you.”  
The revenant, who had been busy trying to skewer Hawke, turned to stare at apprentice, who continued:  
“Hargrave, revenant and perversion of a wise protector  
Death beyond death is no longer your stepping stone through the veil.  
I hold you, demon, and bind your rage for eternity.”  
The revenant uttered a scream of pain and frustration, and Hawke saw something ripping out of monster’s body. The body itself fell on its knees, no longer moving, while the presence which gave Hawke creeps, dissolved in a cloud of sulphur.  
“I banished it.”, the apprentice said calmly. “Do you need something else?”  
“Wait a minute.” Hawke said, shaking his sword. “My sister is a mage. My father was a mage. I know something about magic. You told you knew only a barrier spell! Novices do not banish revenants!”  
“I never said I knew _only_ a barrier spell. You told me you wanted just barriers.” she said shyly.  
“There you have it, Killer.” Varric cackled.  
“But you called it by a name.” Hawke pointed out.  
“It was a guess.” the apprentice admitted. “You can banish almost anything if you know its true name. The rest of it is just poetry.”  
“Oh, by Ancestors.” Varric muttered. “What if you had guessed wrong?”  
“ _Notable Fortresses, Castles, Towers and Other Edifices of Interest in Ferelden,_ by Henry Lannon, mentions Bann Hargrave in this area. The family line died in Orlesian occupation, and the revenant had a good armor. Although revenants are somewhat rare, they are also quite stupid. This one didn’t even notice I didn’t know its first name.” she explained, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Although I don’t know if revenants care about such things. I have to ask Fen'Harel whether one’s true name includes or excludes a family name”  
“You could test banishing Hawke. I’m sure he’d get banished by surname only, too.” Varric said helpfully.  
“I’ll skip it.”, Hawke announced. “Can you do the same thing to apostate? Her name is Widris. A former Circle mage.”  
“I’ll make up something.” she promised.

Half an hour later they had an imprisoned apostate, whose demon had been driven away with six lines of banishing poetry, and one of stupid-looking metal things Renaste collected to activate them for Fen’Harel.  
“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll sleep here.” Hawke announced. “I’m not going to trek back through the swamp in the dark, when there is a perfectly good shelter right here.”

 

The apostate’s hut was small, and Iveani ended up sleeping between Hawke and the artefact. She felt the cold metal against her skin and shivered. Hawke had found a forgotten bottle of homebrewed rotgut from apostate’s supplies and downed half of it before passing out. He had stolen was stealing more than his half of their shared blanket and most of Iveani’s bedroll. Varric was already snoring. She couldn’t understand how soundly the dwarf could sleep. Either Hawke was screaming with nightmares or stinking so badly it made almost her eyes water, not to mention that he was a blanket thief. This was going to be cold and miserable night. Next night, Iveani swore, she would make sure Varric slept on the middle.

A simple warming spell would make falling asleep easier, and others had said that the artefacts didn’t seem to cause any ill effects even when magic was used near them. They had something to do with strengthening the Veil, and they generally just hummed, glowing green after Renaste activated them for Fen’Harel.

Iveani didn’t want to strengthen the Veil, because she knew she was going back to prison as soon as the Breach was closed. Of course, rifts were a horrible danger to spirits of Beyond, but she wasn’t convinced they needed a Veil at all. World would be much better without it. And the artefact was damned cold and clunky against her thigh.

Making up her mind, she rose up and took the artefact. It was far heavier than it looked like, and she staggered at bit as she walked towards the nearest body of water. Varric had almost sunk there earlier, so she knew the water was deep and there was no bottom. Or if there was one, it was hidden under mud.

Iveani put the artefact down and looked it with appraising eye. The cross-shaped appendages were not part of the round globe, but added afterwards. A heated, precise ray of fire should be able to melt them off and break the artefact. She narrowed her eyes to concentrate, and called upon her magic, casting a ray first and adding a barrier to protect herself from possible backlash. Sparks of fire flew from the metal as she started to sever the first appendage from round globe, and the stench of smoke smarted in her nostrils. Drawing more power, she strengthened her ray, and the first appendage fell on the ground.

The second one was easier, now that she knew what she was doing. Iveani had always been good with fire, although Fen’Harel said that it wasn’t something to be proud off since she always made too much heat and burned the meat he had hunted for them during the trek from Tarasyl’an Tel’as to Haven.

She felt strangely pleased when she let the barrier die and the artefact lay before her, broken. Iveani knew very well that she shouldn’t have done it, because she didn’t know what the artefacts were really for, but still, ruining it made her happy. She reached forwards to gather the parts and push them into bog.

A magic, stronger than she had ever felt, shot from the broken artefact as she touched it. Before she had time to cry out or even blink, a vision came over her.

 _She was small, and someone was carrying her. There was a warmth spell keeping her nice and cosy._  
_“You could put her down.” a woman’s amused voice said. “And it isn’t cold in here.”_  
_“I could, but I won’t.”, a man’s voice replied. “She likes being warm.”_  
_She knew he was the one carrying her, because she could feel the voice vibrating in his chest, against her back._  
_“You just like holding her.”, a woman said. “Admit it.”_  
_“It has been too long time since I saw her last.” the man said unhappily. “You must rein your wolf in. I won’t look past his transgressions much longer. I’m growing tired of putting up with his insolence and unrest he causes, especially when we have to take such drastic measures as these. I still think that hiding the baby here is not a good idea. She would be safer with us, not passing as a sentinel’s child.”_  
_“And what would the others do, if they ever learned about her? Try to be reasonable, vhenan. She wouldn’t live a single day in peace after they found out she exists. It is too risky.”_  
_“I could make it so.”, the man disagreed. “If you only understood that sometimes you have to put an end to things, stop trying to reason. You can’t just wait forever and hope they grow brains. It’s evident that it is not going to happen to Fen’Harel.”_  
_She opened her eyes, yawning._  
_“Good morning, ma da’adahl.” the man said, smiling down at her. “Papae has brought you gifts for your birthday. A golden ball from both of us. And enchanted dragon to guard your sleep.”_  
_“You can’t call our daughter your little tree.” the woman protested._  
_“I have to call her something until you finally name her. I don’t understand what’s taking so long. Besides, she’s happy to be papae’s little tree. Aren’t you?”_  
_There was a light, ticking touch of fingers on her stomach, and it made her wiggle and screech with glee. He laughed, and his eyes were warm with love._  
_“Names have power. It’s important to get it right. I’m not certain yet how the fate will turn.” the woman said, watching them with violet eyes. “When I try to see her future, all I can see is Beyond. If I reach further than a year or two, all I can see are green mists of I’ve’an.”_  
_“I’ve’an as where the dead go? She will die even though she’s just a baby?” the man asked sharply. “Is this why you wanted us to make the sphere for her?”_  
_The woman looked at her with worried expression and finally nodded._  
_“Maybe it is her fate, and we have to accept it. I know only what I have seen, not what it means. I will name her I’ve’an’i. Child of Beyond.”_  
_“I don’t like it.”, the man said, holding her closer to his chest. His voice was angry. “You can’t ask me just to accept something like that. I will never call her that. She’d be far better off being a little tree.”_

Iveani blinked. Her whole mind was in chaos, reeling, and at first she didn’t understand where the sunny garden had vanished. It took a moment before she remembered that she was in a swamp, holding the pieces of broken metal in her hands. She must have been kneeling there for some time, because her trouser legs had absorbed the damp from the ground.

The pieces were inert, and there was no trace of strange power they had released. But she knew with utmost certainty that what she had seen, was true. Not a dream, but a memory. Maybe it was a memory stolen by Veil. Or Fen’Harel. How could one forget the faces of her mother and her father otherwise? She had her mother’s eyes, but her father’s mouth. Iveani could have wept.

She took the broken artefact and threw it into a swamp, feeling shaken. “ _If I reach further than a year or two, all I can see is the green mists of Beyond.”_ Her prison.

 

 


	13. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is a blanket thief.

Hawke and Varric watched the dead corpses slump back into bog, dangling their unused weapons in their hands. Then Hawke cleared his throat.  
“I think they were last ones.” he said. “We could go back to camp.”  
“What did you do to them?” Varric asked from the apprentice.  
“I strangled them with Veil.” she said distantly. “I saw it done once in the Fade, and I thought it would be interesting to try it out. Since you said I should cast anything I can think about.”  
“We’re keeping you in team.” Hawke decided. “We’re definitely keeping you.”  
The apprentice simply nodded. She had been on odd mood ever since she had banished the apostate. The woman had never been a talker, but now she spoke even less. Her spells had gotten very effective, to a point where Hawke felt quite useless. The Avvar Chieftain, Hand of Korth, had burned like Andraste on stake, and all Hawke needed to do was to accept heartfelt thanks from freed soldiers.

Hawke didn’t want to stay a moment longer in the swamp than he had to, and since the undead population had been culled and the soldiers freed, the others agreed readily to return to Haven. Or at least Varric did. The apprentice didn’t have an opinion. She just followed along, lost in her own thoughts.

The first night off the undead bog was bad. Hawke trashed and turned on his bedroll, trying to fall asleep because he knew he should get some shut-eye, but not wanting to do it. Varric was already snoring on Hawke’s right side, mouth slightly open.  
“Stop moving so much.” the apprentice finally snapped. Hawke turned on his left side and saw she was still awake. Her eyes were glowing again.  
“Do all the elves glow in the dark like that? Or just mages?”  
“It’s a biological feature, a difference in the internal structure of an eye compared to other races.” she said, yawning.  
“Ah.”, Hawke said, crossing his arms behind his neck.  
“Do all the shemlen take up so much space?” she asked irritably. “Your elbow is on my bedroll.”  
“Sorry.”  
“And your trashing keeps me awake.” she continued. “Not that your nightmares aren’t any better. They practically scream at me. And if you are drunk, you stink and steal the blankets.”  
“Sometimes you just can’t win.” Hawke said gravelly and flashed her a grin.  
She looked at him, clearly unable to decide how to react on that. Then an amused smile spread on her face, although she tried to hide it by looking away from him. She shook her head lightly.  
“This Dreamer thing.” Hawke began slowly. “Have you been doing it for long?”  
“All my life.” she replied.  
“Which is?” Hawke queried. “I mean that if I considered trying your sleeping trick, I would prefer to know that you aren’t a novice mage. Like I originally thought.”  
“How old you think I am?” she asked, turning on her side to look at him.  
“Twenty-two.”, Hawke guessed.  
She bit her lip not to laugh. Apparently it was wrong answer.  
“Eighteen? Nineteen? Twenty?”  
“I’m older than you.” the apprentice said, a twinkle in her eyes. “Let’s just leave it at that.”  
“All right.” Hawke said slowly. “And your name?”  
“I’ve’an’i.”  
“Oh, Maker. The apostrophes. Your parents really liked those, didn’t they? Iveani.” Hawke tried to say it like she did, but his tongue wouldn’t obey.  
“At least you tried.” she said mercifully. “But if you wish me to do this, I can. I would walk your dream with you, and ward off what haunts you.”  
“Last time I went to Fade, all my friends betrayed me.”, Hawke remarked. He sighed, staring at the starless sky, and thought of it. It couldn’t get worse, could it?  
“All right. Do what you do.”, he said, the fight bleeding out of him. He was so tired. She took his hand in hers. Her fingers were cold, and the bones under the skin felt small and thin. Like he could crush them if he wasn’t careful. But Hawke felt his eyelids growing heavy, and before he could summon energy to fight it, he fell asleep.

It was different, this time. He usually found himself at home, starting the desperate chase, or in Darktown where his mother’s locket laid on the ground. But this time, Hawke was standing in that horrible room, facing Quentin who stood beside a high-backed chair.  
He felt the familiar pain blooming in his heart, and waited for the mage to speak, but a single word froze everything.  
“ _Mana_.” Iveani spoke in elvish, and the dream stopped. She walked down the wooden steps and towards Hawke. She seemed different here. More alive, somehow, confident. Not quiet or shy.  
“You must bear through this one more time. There is a demon preying on your pain, feeding from you.” she said sharply. “We must wait for it to reveal itself.”  
“A demon?” Hawke asked.  
“Desperation, Garrett.” she said. “They are antithesis of hope, forming nightmares to tear away foundations of self and purpose. They are attracted to those who are downtrodden, and most intelligent of them not only feed on despair, but know how to create it. You know the truth if you look for it. Was it by chance that your brother, sister and mother all died in a single decade? That your best friend betrayed you and your lover left you? You failed them all, and failed your city?”  
A terrible understanding dawned on Hawke. He didn’t want to believe what she said, but it all made sense. How often he had wondered why them all? Why him?  
“Thrice-cursed whorespawn.” Hawke spat. He was seething with anger now, wanting to kill someone.  
“I will let the dream continue soon. But I will shroud myself from sight, because Desperation has to attempt to feed on you again. If it saw me, it would forget you, and we don’t want that. On the moment it does that, I will come back and help you to kill it.”  
“New prey? Yourself?” Hawke asked shrewdly.  
“I am no stranger to loss of hope.” Iveani said simply. “But be on your guard. Desperation will hide behind someone else’s face in your dream. You will know it for twisting the knife only deeper.”  
“All right.” Hawke straightened his shoulders, readying himself to face what was waiting in the high-backed chair. He felt uncertain when Iveani stepped away from him, but he steeled himself. It would end.  
“ _Theneras.”,_ Iveani’s command echoed in the emptiness, and Hawke braced himself for familiar hurt.

“Do you know what the strongest force in universe is? Love.” Quentin said. “I pieced her together from a memory. I found her eyes, her skin. Her delicate fingers. And, at last, her face.”  
The mage’s voice shook with emotion as he lifted up the veiled woman’s chin.  
“Oh, this beautiful face.”  
The woman stood up on unsteady feet, and Hawke saw his mother’s head sewn on someone else’s body. And the body was moving towards him, dressed in bridal gown. Leandra’s lips were grey, and her eyes were no longer her own, but someone else’s silver, lifeless orbs.  
“I searched far and wide to find you again, beloved. And no force on this earth will part us.” the mage swore, and Hawke drew his sword once again to fight him. Behind him, he heard the undead rising.

“Mother!” Hawke gathered Leandra in his arms.  
“There is nothing I can do. His magic was keeping her alive.” Anders said.  
“I knew you would come.” the dead woman said huskily.  
“I tried to find you.” Hawke said helplessly. His lips formed the words as always, but a small spark inside him was suspicious.  
“Hush. Don’t fret, darling. That man would have kept me trapped here. Now I’m free. I get to see Carver and Bethany again. And your father. But you will be here alone.”  
Hawke knew his next line. He should have told her how he had failed, but instead, he looked at his mother’s face again. Listing all his dead, as a gesture of comfort. You will be here alone. Fucking demon.  
“I should have watched _you_ more closely. Desperation.” he spat.  
Leandra’s bridal outfit turned into black, tattered ropes, and her features vanished, revealing grey, rat-like creature with small eyes and wide mouth. It emitted a sharp, shrill cry as it took flight, but demon’s escape was stopped by Iveani who lifted her staff, imprisoning the demon inside a force cage.  
“Go in and free yourself.” Iveani said to Hawke, nodding towards the shining outline of cage. “I will keep it from escaping.”  
Hawke drew his sword and went in for a kill. The creature blasted him with ice, but he shrugged it off, too angry to stop. The cage wasn’t that big, and every time it tried to fly away, it just hit the faint golden wall and Hawke hunted it down. He shouted at the demon, anything and everything which came in his mind, and hacked at the grey rolls of loose skin until his arms ached.

“It’s done.” Iveani’s voice interrupted him, and he looked down, seeing only a blob of green where the demon had been. The cage was gone, too.  
“It... I can’t believe it was that, the whole time.” Hawke said, shaking his head violently. “Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t Anders know? Or Merrill? She consorted with demons.”  
“No, Garrett.” she said firmly. “Asking why, asking if, are the very questions which made you vulnerable to a demon at first place. Second-guessing will not take away your hurt. You suffered, and now you have an explanation for it. You know why it happened. It is more than many others have, and more than you had yesterday.”  
“Yes.” Hawke sighed. “You are right.”  
He shook his head, feeling forlorn.  
“I just feel stupid.” he blurted. “And that homebrew with turnip bits. Maker, the taste of it.”  
Iveani simply nodded.  
“Let me guide you to happier dream.” she said, and the Darktown around them dissolved. He saw the familiar table at Hanged Man, and his companions sitting around it. Fenris was carrying a tray of drinks from the counter, while Aveline and Isabela were throwing insults at one another. Varric smiled, and even Anders seemed less serious than usual. Merrill was trying to remember how to deal the cards. There was an empty chair waiting for Hawke.  
“I will keep watch for a few nights, to make sure you won’t get lost again in darker parts of the Fade.”, Iveani promised, looking at the frozen scene. There was something sad and wistful in her expression. For a moment, Hawke thought she was like a child watching from other side of a glass, knowing she couldn’t get in. He banished the thought. It was stupid. Sentimental.  
“I don’t know what to say. Except thank you.” he said honestly. “If there is anything you need, anything I can help you with—“  
“Just stop stealing my blanket.” Iveani said, and she vanished. Hawke dreamed only good dreams that night.


	14. A gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iveani and Fen'Harel discuss the nature of their relationship.

“The Herald is not seeing this clearly.” Fen’Harel said irritably as he paced in their cabin. “She doesn’t trust the mages, thinking that the templars are right choice. But a pack of dogs in lyrium leash will not be good allies to Inquisition, while the mages of Redcliffe would serve much better. “  
“Is there a reason why the Herald does not heed your advice?” Iveani asked.  
“She recruited a Circle Mage from Val Royeaux. First Enchanter Vivienne, serving in the court of empress Celine. A bigoted, arrogant woman who has been blinded by her position of favoured pet. She thinks that those mages who are reluctant or unable to go same lengths to curry favour from the powerful, deserve to remain in chains.”  
“How did she get such a position, then?” Iveani asked curiously.   
“Political savvy and shark-like instincts. She’s a mistress of influential noble and utterly infuriating woman who thinks the mages are unfit to govern themselves.” Fen’Harel sneered in disgust. “But the Herald listens to her. Vivienne is a relic from a world of old, and she wants to go to templars.”  
“I thought that the Herald had two siblings in the Templar Order.”, Iveani remarked. “It would be easier for her to think of allying with her own family than a group of unknown mages. If I had brothers, I would feel inclined to trust their opinion of organisation they serve.”  
Fen’Harel let out an unbelieving, annoyed huff.   
“It’s a good thing that it isn’t an issue, then.” he said.  
Iveani could feel a faint tinge of irony through the bond, but the connection wasn’t strong enough to tell for sure. She pursed her lips. Even though Nightingale’s spies were ever present danger, she needed to do something to strengthen Mythal’s spell if she was ever going to figure out Fen’Harel’s game. Her connection to him had dulled somewhat after arriving to Haven, and it would not do. Brothers. So she likely had brothers.   
“You have served her longer than Vivienne. Maybe it would help if she met more of rebel mages. Didn’t you say that the Grand Enchanter Fiona invited you to Redcliffe?” Iveani said.  
“It could work.” Fen’Harel allowed. “Especially if we took Vivienne, too. The Herald would see that Vivienne does not represent the mages’ opinion as whole. The rebels have given no thought to what they want now that their freedom is won, and unless they find a new path to pursue, their victory will turn into dust sooner than they realize. I once thought the People would find their way on their own, but it seems that those imprisoned for too long have no idea what to do with their freedom. The rebel mages have to have a strong, guiding hand, and Inquisition could provide--.”  
A knock on the door disturbed his monologue.   
“I will get it.”, Iveani said, standing up and hurrying towards door. Fen’Harel was surprised when he heard a door closing a moment later, but Iveani didn’t return.

He walked to window and saw she was standing outside with Hawke. The shemlen was placing something on her outstretched arms, grinning. Fen’Harel couldn’t quite see what it was, but Iveani was laughing. Hawke explained something with wide, dramatic gestures, pointing towards south. The tips of Iveani’s ears were turning pink, and she shook her head, looking light-hearted and happy.

The door opened, and Fen’Harel glared at Iveani. She was carrying the most extravagant blanket he had seen for a while. It was rose-coloured, thick velvet with a froth of white lace flowers, easily large enough for two people sleep under. Iveani looked at it and shook her head again, her lips curving upwards.   
“What is that?” Fen’Harel asked sharply.  
“A gift.” Iveani said and spread the hideous thing over her bed. “It’s lovely.”  
“It’s horrible.”  
“I know.” she said delightedly. “Hawke said that he has never been so embarrassed in his life as when he told Seggrit to order one from Orlais. Except when he had to go to collect it, and Cullen was there, buying a whetstone for his sword or something manly like that.”  
“Why Hawke would give you a gift?” Fen’Harel asked sharply.   
“A spirit of Desperation was feeding on him.” Iveani replied, smoothing one of pompous flowers with pleased expression. “I banished it. The presence of demon every night during our trip to Fallow Mire was starting to become painful.”  
“A wise choice.” Fen’Harel said slowly. “It must have been uncomfortable to dream so near of a demon.”  
“Maybe he will drink less and be more use to Inquisition, now.” she mused. “Varric says it looks promising, so far. But old habits are hard to break.”  
“Let us hope so. The Herald could use more able fighters.” Fen’Harel agreed.  
“Do you have anything important to do just now?” Iveani asked, changing the subject.  
“No. I’m certainly not going to tavern to be stared at.”, Fen’Harel sniffed.   
“I still have rashvine we collected from Tarasyl’an Tel’as, but I’m running low on Deep Mushrooms for my tonic.” Iveani said. “You mentioned there are old mines in the mountain, and I would like to refresh my stocks if mushrooms grow there. I can’t very well go to Seggrit’s and buy herbs to prevent pregnancy without someone asking questions.”   
Fen’Harel watched her with a lazy smile.   
“It certainly wouldn’t help my relationship with the Herald.” he noted. “Or they could blame Hawke.”  
“It’s not like that.” she said, insulted. “He’s a shemlen, for Void’s sake.”  
“That is true.” Fen’Harel chuckled. “Is this a roundabout way to ask me to sneak into cave with you?”  
“Yes.” Iveani admitted. “Although the Fade is safer option, it isn’t the same thing. And it would be nice to have you for myself for few hours. Without the shemlen.”  
“I think it can be arranged.” Fen’Harel promised solemnly.

 

The green flames of veilfire made shadows dance on the cave walls. The colours of the deep were beautiful; Iveani could not help but admire the cold white starlight shining through the chasm above. The abandoned mines were silent, and the silence was like music in her ears. Shemlen were always making noise. They were restless, twitchy people.   
“I’ve missed you.” she whispered to Fen’Harel. “Although I didn’t want to.”  
His mouth curved up in one of his faint, ironic smiles, but it hid no deceit behind it.   
“I know.” he said. “It’s the bond. And the shemlen, I think. More you learn of them, more you will see how different they truly are. Loneliness can be a frightening fate.”  
“Yes.” Iveani said, snuggling closer to him. “It’s like... Being underwater. Or blind. Having my senses muffled, suffocated by something, and nobody else notices anything is wrong. I try to reach towards them, but there is no answer. They don’t even understand that I’m trying.”  
She was silent for a moment, reaching out with her magic. Fen’Harel’s aura blended with hers, creating a harmony which soothed her tiredness.   
“I wonder if it was what the last of the People felt before she died. It must have been a terrible fate. Her bond broken with death, her children all shemlen. She was all alone.” Iveani shook her head.   
“I have always wanted to think she was too quickened to understand the gravity of her loss.” Fen’Harel said in low voice. “Otherwise, the thought would be too much to bear.”   
He kissed her lips softly, taking his time.   
“But why your mind is filled with such dark thoughts, ma lath?” Fen’Harel asked.   
“I think it was Desperation.” she admitted quietly. “It had been feeding on Hawke for years. The same fate could have happened to me.”  
“It wouldn’t.”, Fen’Harel said soothingly, holding her. “You escaped once. You could do it again.”  
“And you would hunt me down?” she raised her eyebrows in mocking gesture.   
“Of course.” he smirked. “But man’s worth is determined by his adversaries. Without anyone to play against, I would soon become dulled like an old blade. You have become more interesting since you ran away.”   
“I think it would take me longer to find you this time, bond or not.” Fen’Harel mused. “You could have let the bond fade. But you don’t want to. It’s clear that you have plans. I will enjoy figuring them out.”  
“You told me that sex could make the spell end.” Iveani pointed out lightly, following the line of his jaw with her fingers.  
“I lied.” Fen’Harel whispered in her ear. “And you knew it. You felt the bond starting to fade.”  
“I did.” she smiled at the Dread Wolf. “And what will you do about it?”  
“Nothing.” he said. “I find it interesting to see what kind of person you will become. It’s only shrewd from a man to know his heart.”  
“It is.”, she replied. “But you are talking too much. I didn’t bring you here to _talk_.”  
Fen’Harel smirked.   
“It wouldn’t do to disappoint a lady.” he said with fake politeness and bent his head down to meet her lips. The bond flared up, and Iveani let herself drown in the sensations echoing back and forth between them, through flesh and mind. And for one fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of herself through Fen’Harel’s eyes. Lips parted, hair a mess against the stone floor, eyes shining in the twilight. And she knew that Fen’Harel loved her.   
“Vhenan.”, she whispered. For one did not choose her heart, or love it. But surely she would die without him, alone among the shemlen.  
Fen’Harel did not answer, but Iveani knew he had heard, because he held her like she was as fragile as a dream.

\--

Renaste Trevelyan had been waiting at Fen’Harel’s cabin for a long time, making small talk with the alchemist to pass the time. The man was too grumpy to offer good conversation. She had even visited the tavern to exchange few words with Sera, but it hadn’t done much good. The rude woman had said that Renaste was just like every other noble, born with a golden spoon in her ass. Sera needed to put on her place as soon as possible.

She finally spotted the elves coming from east. Fen’Harel was wearing the same old sweater with jawbone hanging from his neck. He looked relaxed, almost mellow, and the expression was mirrored on Iveani’s face. He was carrying a small sack on his shoulder, and they spoke in their singsong language. Renaste couldn’t understand the word of it, but it sounded beautiful.

A nasty feeling of jealousy sparked in her heart. They looked so content together. Fen’Harel had never explained the exact nature of their relationship, stating just that Iveani had lived with Wisdom until the spirit died. But seeing them together like this made Renaste wonder if they were apprentice and master or something else entirely. One would expect the last two elves on Thedas to share a certain comradeship, but was there more? Had to be. Maybe they even had a couple of children stashed somewhere under the care of spirits? She wouldn’t put it past Fen’Harel. He liked elven culture far too much to let it just die. Even Renaste liked it too much. But Iveani she did not like.

“Fen’Harel.” Renaste called as soon as they got to hearing range. Fen’Harel’s expression changed, and the softness disappeared. The familiar polite mask told Renaste all she needed to know, and it tore her heart.   
“I have been waiting here for some time.” Renaste said, unable to keep sharpness of her voice. “I will travel to Therinfal Redoubt with Cassandra, Varric and Hawke as soon as Josephine has gathered Orlesian nobles. But I want you to take Sera and Vivienne, and go to Redcliffe to speak with the leader of mages there. There is a scout party leaving to Hinterlands tonight. You can travel with them. I want whatever information you can find, and then I make my final decision on whether we should seek alliance with mages as well. I trust you can set out immediately?”  
“Of course, Herald.” Fen’Harel nodded.  
Iveani's expression was odd mixture of sadness and relief, and Renaste didn't quite know what to make of it.

 


	15. When did I tell you I wanted you to save me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red lyrium effects, stage one: Symptoms vary. Subject may display heightened possessiveness or paranoia, or an increased penchant for violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one are the absolute bottom of despair in this fic.

It was the middle of a night, when Renaste Trevelyan woke up to shouting behind her door. She blinked wearily.   
“I must speak with the Herald.” a woman’s voice demanded.   
“It is middle of night.” a guard replied. “Go back to sleep. Herald is sleeping.”  
“It’s about Fen’Harel. “, the woman insisted, and Renaste recognized the voice. It was Iveani. She sat up in her bed, suddenly fully awake.   
“Let her in.”, Renaste called out loudly. As soon as she had spoken, the door opened, and Iveani entered the room. She had clearly been woken up as well, because the elf was wearing a cloak pulled over a simple nightshirt and nothing else.   
“What is it about Fen’Harel?” Renaste asked, pleased that at least Josephine and Vivienne had made sure she looked presentable even in the middle of a night. Her nightgown was much nicer.   
“I heard him screaming in the Fade. Fen’Harel never does that.” Iveani stated. The woman’s face was pale, and those elven eyes looked larger than usually. “Someone was hurting him. I _felt_ it.”  
Renaste felt a cold creeping along her spine.   
“Are you certain?”  
“He was cursing. Crying. I have never heard him cry, not even when the Dales fell and People died.” Iveani said, her mouth a firm line despite the terror in her eyes. “I have to go to him.”  
“I—“, Renaste began. “We have to—“  
“Herald!” the guard opened the door without knocking. “Word from the gates. Sera and Madame de Fer have just returned from Redcliffe. With a Tevinter magister, no less.”  
“And Fen’Harel?” Renaste felt fear gripping her heart.  
“It would be best if you came to war room, Herald.” Leliana said quietly. The spymaster had appeared from nowhere, and Renaste knew something was seriously wrong.

“Herald.”, Vivienne nodded. Her immaculate appearance was less perfect now, the silk gown ruined by dirt and stains. The brown-skinned man standing next to her was no less glittery, but obviously upset.   
“So the rumours were true.” he whispered, looking at Iveani. “Oh, Maker.”  
“Don’t you start on elfy shit again!” Sera shouted. “It was what got us into this mess! Shitty rebels and shitty magisters and their shitty ideas about elves.”  
“The mages of Redcliffe have sworn their loyalty to Tevinter.” Vivienne informed the Herald in clipped tones. “We were received graciously until they saw Fen’Harel. The magister—“  
“Alexius’ son Felix is sick with taint. He has been trying to find a spell to reverse it with time magic, but his attempts threatened to break the fabric of reality.” the man said. He gave Iveani an apologetic look. “And when he saw a living elf and heard he was named after one of your Creators, he lost it. I’m very sorry. Alexius has been under a lot of strain. He isn’t thinking clearly.”  
“What did he do?” Iveani asked. Renaste saw she was holding the edge of war table so hard her knuckles had turned white.   
“He thinks that your friend is immortal, an elven god of old.” the man shook his head. “Alexius wants that immortality to save Felix.”  
Sera took a small box from her pocket and placed it on the table, wiping her hand on her trousers.   
“The bastard told us to plant them in a holy place, in case the legend about elfy connection to nature is true and they will sprout a whole elf one day.”  
Renaste opened the box. Inside, there were two severed fingers of a man.   
“I’m afraid he started cutting even before they threw us out.” the man said apologetically.  
Renaste vomited on the war table.

“They aren’t going to do anything, are they?” Iveani asked in too calm voice.  
“No!” Renaste spat. “They all say that is too dangerous, and we must concentrate on the Breach. Cullen especially. Leliana mentioned there was a tunnel from old windmill into the keep. They are planning an attack by force, but it will take too long. Fen’Harel can’t wait for a week.”  
“I knew it.”, Iveani said. “Humans never do anything to stop it.”  
“You can’t blame entire race for—“  
“Can’t I?” Iveani’s voice rose. “Look me into eye and tell our extinction wasn’t the humans’ fault.”  
She had never looked as inhuman as now, her teeth bared in a feral growl.   
“I will go then.” Iveani hissed. “And do what you can’t.”  
“Wait a minute!” Renaste grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare to walk away! I’m coming with you.”  
Iveani considered it.   
“Steal a horse for yourself and follow a swan. You have ten minutes, or I’m leaving without you.”  
“A swan?”  
“Not everyone gets to be a dragon.” the elf told her and left.

 

They sneaked out from Haven under the darkness. Renaste suspected that Iveani was using magic to hide them, but she wasn’t going to complain. She knew her advisors were going to come after them as soon as somebody noticed she was missing, and Renaste needed to get to Redcliffe before that. Once they got there, Cullen’s troops would have no other choice but to help them free Fen’Harel.

Except Iveani didn’t agree, when they stopped at Crossroads village to rest and plan.   
“Fen’Harel will not thank you.” she warned. “His pride has been hurt. He will lash out on us, for seeing him like that, and if you let others witness his shame, it can only end in disaster for whole Inquisition. Once we get close, you must stand back and let me deal with him. It’s too dangerous.”  
“You are overreacting.” Renaste told her. “Or you just want to be the one saving him.”  
Iveani’s eyes gleamed.   
“Now we are finally getting to point.” she said coolly. “You think this is some kind of romantic tale. A knight in trouble, waiting for his lady love to rescue him. You even got a white horse.”  
“It was the fastest.” Renaste said sharply. “And it’s clear that you want to be the one saving him.”  
“You have no idea of his true nature. Yes, he has wonderful tales. There is nobody else more captivating when he feels passionate about something. One can spend hours listening his stories of Fade. But he is also a man whose regrets have poisoned his soul. He can be cruel. Petty. Possessive. And most of all, he is proud.” Iveani told Renaste.   
Renaste knew proud men. Proud women. She herself was a noble, and all nobles were proud. She could understand what Iveani was telling her. At least she thought so.   
“What they have done to him?” she asked.   
“They hurt him. In spirit as much as in body.” Iveani said, not meeting her eyes. “I won’t tell you more.”  
“How do you know?” Renaste asked shrewdly. “You haven’t ever been to Redcliffe, not as far as I know. Still you headed straight towards the village, and haven’t gotten lost.”  
“I disobeyed him, and was bound.” Iveani replied.  
“Bound?”  
“It’s an elvhen concept. You would not understand.”  
“I know plenty about elves. Of your Creators. After Fen’Harel came to us, I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on. He is named after the Dread Wolf, isn’t he? The one who locked away the rest of your gods. Or is _he_ the Dread Wolf? It would explain why he lives even though the elves are gone.”  
Iveani stopped dead on her tracks.   
“What did you say?” her voice was barely a whisper.   
“I said Fen’Harel is the Dread Wolf, who locked away the rest of Elvhen Pantheon. Your Creators, the gods. Elgar’nan, Mythal, all their children.” Renaste said.  
“I... I have to sit down.”, Iveani said, looking unwell. She sat on the ground, holding her head between her hands. “He locked away all their children?”  
“You didn’t know? Clearly you didn’t. How can it be that you don’t know something as common as the tale of Dread Wolf’s Great Betrayal?” Renaste asked. “You were so smug just few minutes ago.”  
“Just answer me. Who were their children?”  
“Five of them. The twin boys, Falon’Din and Dirthamen. Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. Andruil the Huntress. Some sources say that June was Sylaise’s husband, others claim he was Andruil and Sylaise’s brother. And then there was Ghilan’nain, the mother of the Halla. But she wasn’t their daughter. The ninth Creator was Fen’Harel.”  
“So they had five children. Not six.” Iveani said, pushing her hair off her face.   
“Yes. But now is not time for a history lesson.” Renaste reminded her strictly. “We need to have a great plan if we are going to save Fen’Harel. I’m good with bow, but I doubt we can take out a whole fortress by ourselves.”  
“We could ask demons for help.” Iveani said slowly.  
“Demons?” Renaste was not pleased. “The world is knee-deep in demons as it is! Are you a blood mage?”  
“No. I walk in the Fade and heal minds. Of people, who have been hurt by a spirit, as well as spirits.” Iveani said. “I was saying that we could ask them to help out. Few spirits of rage, vengeance, desperation. They wouldn’t attack us if you offered them a passage through Veil... And few Tevinter mages to take over.”  
“You have to be kidding me.”, Renaste said. “No. Simply no.”  
“Then what we will do? Sit here and wait until he is too far gone?” bright red spots of anger burned on Iveani’s face. “I didn’t take you along to hinder me. If you want that lovely romantic rescue of yours, you have to be ready to get your hands dirty. To do what it takes.”  
“I have a better idea. Without demons or possessions. But I’m not sure if you are tough enough to go through with it.”, Renaste said, crossing her arms over her chest.   
“I’m not the one chickening out.” Iveani hissed. “Spit it out, shemlen.”  
“Very well. And before you start flinging blame, I want you to know that this isn’t originally my idea. I found a rather odd little book under my brothers’ mattress when I was fourteen. It was about Divine Theodosia II, who was removed from her position for violating a vow of chastity…” Renaste began.

Iveani listened her plan and said:   
“First of all, offering me as a bait for Tevinters to breed more elves for their use is incredibly insulting, even if they are likely to agree. And how can you be sure that the Tevinters don’t just thank you and imprison us all? Why would they agree to trade me for Fen’Harel, if they could have both, and you as a bonus?”  
“I’m willing to bet that I’m related to that Tevinter magister. There are rules among nobility. One does not back on a deal with a relative. It’s not honourable. Of course, it only applies to those of noble blood.”  
“Of course.” Iveani said dryly. “But have you considered how often the nobility wars against each other? Celene and Gaspard are cousins, and yet they fight.”  
“I will not consort with demons. I’m chosen of Andraste, and that is simply out of question.” Renaste said, glaring at Iveani.   
“And I will not agree to a plan where the starting scene is already the worst possible outcome of this fools’ journey. I would only end up naked, weaponless and drunk on magebane in some dirty cellar with a group of magisters wanting to see elf porn. That is not a good beginning for rescue attempt.” Iveani said bitingly.  
“So if neither of us can agree on a plan, what about we just slip through the secret tunnel and kill them all quietly? If you can point out where Fen’Harel is?”  
“I can. Let’s just kill them all.”

 

Renaste had to admit that for two people who despised each other as much as they did, they worked together quite seamlessly. Iveani caught the guards with Veil, stuffing their mouths shut to keep them quiet, while Renaste shot them dead. Then Renaste opened a tiny rift and stuffed the corpses inside it before demons came through. She was slightly worried about giving free bodies for demons, but like Iveani said, the guards were already dead and they couldn’t leave a trail of bodies behind if they wanted to avoid getting caught.  
“We are getting closer.” Iveani said. Her eyes looked glazed, like she was feverish. “It is not good, Renaste. Third door on the left, then the stairs, the first door straight on top of them.”  
“Up? Not down?”  
“Up. It’s not a dungeon. I think it’s Felix’s bedroom.” her face twisted.   
“Blood and damnation.” Renaste muttered and picked up speed.  
“Stop.” Iveani said, and it was an order. “I have to go first. You deal with the guards, I deal with Fen’Harel. Do not come closer before I tell you can. He will lash out, and it would be best if you didn’t pay him any attention.”  
“You keep saying that.” Renaste looked at Iveani. “And yet you are so eager to go straight to wolf’s mouth?”  
“I’m trying to protect you.” she said, not flinching under Renaste’s gaze.   
“You are just jealous.” Renaste told her, and strode first to third door, starting to run up the stairs.

She was faster than Iveani, with longer legs and more stamina, and reached the door on the top of the stairs first. She could hear two voices speaking in Tevene, and spared no time. Notching an arrow and pulling bowstring taut, Renaste kicked the door open and shot the first person in her line of sight. The female mage in pointy hood fell with arrow in her throat, and Renaste was just going to release her second arrow, when she saw Fen’Harel.

He was almost unrecognisable, if not for left hand which missed two fingers. The tips of his ears had been cut off, and his back was a red mess. Renaste swallowed. Someone had flayed long strips of skin off him. He was laying on a bed, stark naked, and there was dried blood everywhere.   
“Fen’Harel.” she said, freezing where she stood. “Oh, Maker, what they have done to you?”  
He opened one swollen eye, and growled. The sound made cold shivers run along Renaste's spine.  
“Intruders!” the remaining mage shouted, and sent a bolt of mana towards Renaste. The Herald of Andraste cried out, trying to dodge the projectiles, but they followed her and scorched her skin like fire. From the corner of her eye, she saw Iveani slipping into room. The elf blasted mage with ice, freezing him. She drew a dagger from her belt.  
“Fen’Harel.” Iveani called.   
Renaste did not understand how someone so damaged could move at all, or stand and kill a man like Iveani was clearly offering.   
“Don’t be an idiot!” Renaste snapped, trying to take the knife. “I will handle this if you are chickening out.”  
“Shut up.”, Fen’Harel said, and Renaste had never heard him sound like that. He was beyond rage. Cold. Iveani pushed Renaste aside, and offered the knife again to Fen’Harel who was staggering towards her and the frozen man. The ice was dissolving, and Renaste could see the black veins on his face. Darkspawn taint.   
“Renaste.”, Iveani said, looking at her. “The rest of Inquisition forces should arrive any minute. Go back to tunnel and meet them. We will follow you soon.”  
She tried to keep her voice steady, but there was something odd in her words. A spark of fear, or a warning? Renaste didn’t know.  


But Fen’Harel held the knife in his ruined fingers, now, and Iveani took a step back. The ice spell vanished, and the man’s eyes widened. The human mage was going to call his magic any moment, Renaste just knew it. Fen’Harel’s hand was shaking, and Iveani wasn’t doing a thing to help him. Without thinking, Renaste notched another arrow, and released it. There was a gurgle as the arrow impaled the man’s throat.   
“You should not have come, shemlen. You will regret stealing my prey.” Fen’Harel snarled to Renaste.   
He seized the man, and pulled the arrow out from his throat, using the arrowhead to rip the wound wide open.

Fen’Harel looked at Iveani, who had retreated against the wall. His expression was strange, calculating. Then he nodded slowly, like he had made up his mind.   
“Renaste.”, Iveani said, almost begging. “Go to wait for others. Please.”  
“I’m not leaving you here.” Renaste surprised herself with her words.  
Fen’Harel was upon her now. He pushed his ruined, bloody hand into Iveani’s hair, and whispered:   
“Vhenan.” _  
_ Fen’Harel kissed her like man dying of thirst. Renaste could do nothing but stare. She couldn’t see magic, but something was clearly happening, likely a spell. The bloody flesh on Fen’Harel’s back was changing. His skin was slowly reknitting itself, while Iveani was turning paler with each passing moment. It was like he was stealing very life from her. _  
_ “ _Nuvenan dera na aron tuelan. Mythal’enaste.”_ Fen’Harel said in soft, low voice of man in desire. _(I will touch you like a Creator. Mythal’s blessing.)_ __  
  


Renaste’s cheeks were on fire with shame and hurt, and her heart was no better. She blindly ran to next room, looking for lyrium bottles. But all she could think of was the image of Fen’Harel smooching Iveani. What the hell was that about? The man had been tortured! Sex should be last thing in his mind. What kind of mages were they, really? How could Renaste have thought Fen’Harel was a man worthy of her affections? She should have known from the start. Had they been laughing at her crush for the whole time, secretly going on behind her back? Like she wasn’t good enough for their special elf club. Renaste was ready to make them both Tranquil for this, if—

Renaste didn’t know how long she had stood there, holding lyrium bottles and keeping a watch on the stairs. Then she heard the door hinges creaking. She turned around slowly, and saw Fen’Harel standing at the door. He was still naked, but his skin was smooth, and the tips of his ears had... grown back? He shook his ruined hand violently, and Renaste felt her stomach turning as she saw new fingers popping out from bloody stumps. Oh, Maker.   
“What? How?” Renaste asked, almost dropping the lyrium bottle. Fen’Harel caught it in his repaired hand and uncorked the little vial, downing it with a single gulp.   
“A recreational rite. It revived Elgar’nan more times than I care to count.” The Wolf considered his words and added, uncorking another bottle:   
“I always thought it was thrice. The twins, Andruil and Sylaise, but it must have been four times. His fourth death must have been something really embarrassing. Like dying in his own bed, or drowning in a bath tube while drunk.”  
He emptied another vial of lyrium, and then shrugged, stretching his shoulders.  
“You will watch my Iveani while I clean this filthy cage of critters. I didn’t mean to do this, but you intervened. You stole my kill, and I had to take from her what I could not repair by myself. Now she’s too weak to fight, and it’s your fault.”  
“I meant only to help.” Renaste defended herself. “We saved you!”  
“When did I tell you I wanted to be saved by you?” Fen’Harel asked. He took her left hand, and anchor flared. Renaste cried out when she felt it twisting, and then the bindings broke. The magic in her hand was burning as badly as on the first day, but it was different, controlled. He extended a finger, and drew beautiful, green lines on her arm, like a curving tattoo. But she had never seen this design among the Dalish clans or in the lovely picture books of different vallaslin.   
“You should be proud to have it; you are the first slave to be marked with my vallaslin for three thousand and six hundred years.” Fen’Harel said.  
“Take it off!” Renaste tried to pull her hand away.  
“You should not have come here, shemlen.” Fen’Harel’s voice was cold, and he no longer smiled. “I don’t want your pity, and I’m frankly bored with trying to reason with you. It’s much simpler just to give orders. You already bear one mark belonging to me, and a second one will assure you will not make such a mistake as stealing my kill again. Think it as an override switch. “  
“I’m a Herald of Andraste, chosen by blessed bride of the Maker.” Renaste shouted. “You are just an elf! Unhand me!”  
He let go of her hand, and Renaste felt a truly peculiar sensation. The blood vessels under her skin were moving, splitting, arranging themselves as a pattern which looked just like the vallaslin Fen’Harel had painted on his skin.  
“That was Dirthamen’s idea. Harder to get rid of vallaslin, when it requires one to hack off limbs.” Fen’Harel noted absently.  
Renaste massaged her aching arm, tears of anger rising to her eyes.   
“You will pay for this!” she hissed. “I will tell Cullen, Leliana, everyone! They will be here any minute.”  
“You can’t tell what you can’t remember.” Fen’Harel said, dismissing her threats _. “_ _Forget._ _”_  
  


 

 

 


	16. A fatal kiss is all we need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel tells Iveani who she is, and what he is going to do to Tevinter. 
> 
> Also, you get Abelas cameo. More precisely: Abelas' first day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this story was a musical (like Abelas and Siren Song) this chapter would have Fen'Harel wearing nothing but black leather trousers and singing Northern Kings cover version of "A View to Kill"
> 
> Until we dance into the fire, that fatal kiss is all we need  
> Dance into the fire, to fatal sounds of broken dreams  
> Dance into the fire, that fatal kiss is all we need  
> Dance into the fire
> 
> Choice for you, is the view to a kill  
> Between the shades, assassination's standing still  
> The first crystal tears, fall as snowflakes on your body  
> First time in years, to drench you skin with lovers rosy stain  
> A chance to find the phoenix for the flame  
> A chance to die

The bond burned like a flaming brand in her mind. Iveani saw through his eyes how he hunted down first Gerion Alexius and then the Tevinter mages who still remained at the castle. Most of the rebels fled when they saw Dread Wolf tearing Alexius into small pieces in the middle of his throne room, only to meet the Inquisition forces arriving to Redcliffe. Iveani felt sick and wished she could make it stop, but something was wrong with her. Her body was scorching hot and she felt like she was drowning into sea of Fen’Harel’s memories. One moment it was a glimpse of real world, Fen’Harel tearing a man’s throat open, and in next, his victim was another elf. She saw herself as a little girl, playing with a doll on the floor of her prison, and then thousand years passed in a blink of an eye, and she smiled shyly at Fen’Harel, listening him read a book of poetry.

She saw the man who had held her, her papae, but he was wearing an armor now, his face splattered with blood. And her mamae, laying on the ground. Her neck was broken, eyes unseeing. Fen’Harel held her cold hand in his, and wept. His agony was too much to bear, and Iveani sank back into darkness, only to be pulled to another current of memories. She heard the evil song of red lyrium, and felt how it burned when they poured it on his open wounds. He cried. It went on and on. For how long, she couldn’t tell.

When she woke up, she didn’t know where she was. It was a small room with stone walls, and Fen’Harel was lying next to her. He looked so much better now. His ears were intact, and he had all his fingers.  
His eyes met hers, and a faint smile made his mouth curve. There was something wrong with his eyes. Behind grey, there was a reddish glow, like fading coals.  
“Ah. You are finally awake. I was wondering if you were going to come through before the Inquisition leaves the castle. Renaste has conscripted the rebel mages. Normally I would be most displeased, but after the role they played in my capture, I don’t mind.”  
“What is wrong with your eyes?” Iveani asked. Her lips were so dry it was hard to speak.  
“Red lyrium.” Fen’Harel said, his expression hardening into rage before he gathered his will and reined his temper in. “But it is not something you need to concern yourself. I will deal with the infection, and you will concentrate on surviving through the pregnancy. High fever is a harbinger of a strong-souled child, our People used to say.”  
Iveani was speechless.  
“You didn’t know?” he asked with a smile. “Of course you didn’t. I never told you. It is one of niceties of elvhen biology, connected with magic of bond. Before Veil, we didn’t breed like shemlen do. Babies were so rare that even Mythal and Elgar’nan had to adopt a few, because attempts to have children were so costly. To pay for her mate’s life, a woman must create another. Not all women or foetuses survive through the ordeal. It seems to be most unpleasant.”  
“Renaste said there is an elven legend of you imprisoning the Creators.” Iveani hang to one clue she could comprehend in her feverish state.  
“I’m the Dread Wolf. I was your mother’s lover. She played with me, refusing to leave the lout who was her husband and your father. Your father was furious when he found out. Enraged, he killed her.”, Fen’Harel said between gritted teeth. His words rang true through their bond. “He was always a mad dog, but that one time, she could not calm him down. And Mythal died.”  
“Mythal?” Iveani felt the room was spinning.  
“Yes. Mythal. I was mad with grief. I trapped them all and left them to die.”  
She couldn’t think what to say.  
“I had just locked away your father when I saw you. A tiny thing standing at the door of his bedroom. I should have killed you too. I was going to, but you had your mother’s eyes. I felt sentimental. And it wasn’t enough to imprison Elgar’nan forever. I wanted more. So I thought that letting you live would be far better revenge.”  
“Elgar’nan?” she whispered weakly.  
“Oh, yes, little Creator.” his chuckle was dark. “I destroyed his kingdom and took immortality from his People, left my brethren broken in their prisons, and bound him in the darkest corner of the Fade I could find. He still lives, but only because I allow it. “  
“I not guilty to any of those things!” she protested, on verge of tears. “I was a baby!”  
“You are your father’s daughter, and that is reason enough to hate you.” Fen’Harel said. “I find certain pleasure knowing that he undoubtedly has been watching you all these years. But you are your mother’s daughter, and I loved her. You will live, but each attempt to flee will cost you one of your fellow prisoners. I will let you choose which one of them dies.”  
Iveani tried to answer, to plead him to see reason, but she had no strength left. Fen’Harel’s expression softened, and he lifted a glass of water to her mouth, supporting her neck so she could drink.  
“I’m sorry.” he said. “You have done nothing wrong. It’s the red lyrium, and its twisted song, making me irritated.”  
“I knew you would lash out. I tried-“, she said, feeling like she would faint. It was too much. She couldn’t understand what he was telling her.  
“Hush, Iveani. Save your strength. You will need it.”, he said, brushing hair away from her sweating brow. “Because of what Tevinter did to me, there has to be a new pantheon. You, me, and our children. Eventually, the People. When Breach is closed and I have regained my orb, the Inquisition will gather power and march to Tevinter to destroy their nation. A war against the heretics is something the shemlen will join eagerly. They always do.”  
She was almost grateful when the darkness came over her again.

 

 _“No.”, a golden-eyed adolescent with a long nose frowned at her. The tree on his face was still red and swollen below the green lines._  
_She giggled and called up her golden ball. It floated through the air and dropped on his head with a thump._  
 _He was not happy. He tried to grab the ball, but it scurried away, flashing angry red magic at young man. The magic was sharp like needles, and he yelped. I’ve’an’i thought it was funniest thing she had ever seen, and she giggled so hard that her stomach hurt. She reached with her chubby hands and the ball flew to her. She hugged it, feeling happy._  
 _“Mythal save me from little Creators and their foci.” his companion, an old lady, sighed and looked piously up to the sky. All the adults in her home had nice clothes, but the old lady had the prettiest. She was so wrinkly that her tree was partially worn off._  
 _“It would not do to question Mythal’s wisdom, but my task would be far easier without the ball.” the youth said, rubbing the lump on his head. “The cursed thing already fried me when I tried to comb her hair, and this is only my first day.”_  
 _“Yet you succeeded.” old lady replied serenely. “You must think all of this, especially her toys, as a trial of faith.”_  
 _“Toys?” the youth asked, sounding suddenly very concerned. “Are there more of them?”_  
 _“Ma da’adahl!” she exclaimed in childish voice, and the old lady smiled._  
 _“Yes, da’len, but you must be patient and wait a bit longer. Our lady promised they will be here very soon.”_  
 _“Please tell me she didn’t mean a varterral.” the youth said, eyeing her warily._  
 _Turning to young man, the old lady explained:_  
 _“She refers to her lord father, who calls her his little tree. I’ve’an’i is very excited for her birthday. I think she is expecting presents.”_  
 _She beamed at the adults, smiling widely._  
 _“What kind of presents?”_  
 _“You are already familiar with her ball. There is also a dragon crib. It spits fire on people sometimes.”_  
 _The youth’s face looked like he had bitten something rotten. The old lady smiled._  
 _“The duty given to you will teach great patience. But I find that priests are not that different to wrangle than a two-year-old. Both require strict yet loving hand.” she remarked._

_They waited in the garden for a long time. But mamae didn’t come, and there were no presents. The kind old lady pursed her lips and suddenly said in very, very calm voice:_   
_“It would be best if you took the baby to her room. It’s growing late.”_   
_“Mamae?” I’ve’an’i asked, her lip wobbling. “Papae?”_   
_“Maybe later, my sweet.” the old lady said, patting her head. Her mouth was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. “Take her to her room, and stay there with her. Protect her. No matter what you hear. No matter what happens.”_   
_“What is it, Highest One?” the young man asked. “Is something wrong with Great P—“_   
_“Not while she hears.” the old lady snapped. “I gave you an order, sentinel. Take your charge and go!”_

_They had not gotten far from the garden, when I’ve’an’i understood something was very wrong. The vestibule was full of people, and they were fighting._   
_“Mythal’enaste! Mythal’sulevin!”_   
_There were weapons and screaming and blood. People who had trees on their faces were falling down, and they didn’t get up again. The strangers had swirly lines. Her nanny froze where he stood, and then one of swirly ones saw them. The young man put I’ve’an’i down on the floor, stepping in front of her, and drew his sword. The swirly one had a bigger sword, and they clashed, making a frightening noise. I’ve’an’i started to weep._

_She looked around, not knowing where to go, but then she saw mamae standing near the railing. Mamae looked odd, because I’ve’an’i saw sun shining through her. But mamae had come for her party, like old lady had promised, and she would give I’ve’an’i a present. Mamae smiled at her, and knelt down, holding her hands ready._   
_I’ve’an’i giggled, because she knew this game. Following wall for support, she walked forwards. When she got close enough, she took her ball, and sent it rolling towards mamae. But when the golden ball reached mamae, mamae didn’t catch it. Instead, the ball seemed to catch her. Mamae vanished inside._   
_“Mamae!” I’ve’an’i screamed. “Mamae!”_   
_Her childish, shrill voice cut through the sounds of battle, and some of the swirly faces turned to look at her. One of them, a tall man, slammed his staff on the ground and suddenly Iveani was being pulled. She screamed, and the youth tried to grab her hand. His fingertips touched hers as he jumped to get her before she was pulled over the railing, but it was too late. She had wandered too far._

_She floated through air, and fell in the waiting arms of a swirly man. Swirly man started to run, with others covering his escape, and I’ve’an’i was hiccupping. The people shouting around her were frightening, and her ball with mamae inside was still on the temple upper level._  
 _“Mamae!” she sobbed. “Papae ma da’adahl.”_  
 _“I will take you to your papae.” the swirly man said, and I’ve’an’i stopped trying to wiggle away from him. She just laid against his shoulder, and watched her home carved inside a mountain becoming smaller and smaller_.

 


	17. The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is closed. Hawke visits Iveani to say goodbye before he leaves to Kirkwall.

“Go and have a few pints.” Hawke said, patting Adan on the shoulder. They were standing in front of healer’s hut near the gates. “We’ll watch over your patient.”  
“I’m not opposed to few rounds of dancing now that the damned hole in the sky is finally closed.” Aedan agreed gruffly. “And it’s not like I can do anything anyway. The other elf said this is some creepy magical curse the ‘Vints afflicted her with. If she gets delusional, just ignore it and give her poppy juice.”  
“Delusional?” Hawke asked.  
“People say all kinds of shit when they are burning with fever. She insists that the Witch of the Wilds is real, and she has to go and find her.”, Adan shook his head. “Once she claimed that she is over three thousand years old, and raised in a prison with a spirit of Wisdom guarding her.”  
Varric and Hawke exchanged glances. Varric put a friendly smile on his face and took a good grip from Adan’s arm.  
“You’ll say goodbyes for both of us, and I’ll grab a pint with our good alchemist on the meantime.”, Varric nodded to Hawke and guided Adan out.

Iveani was lying in a cot, and when Hawke sat down by her bedside, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. But what worried him most was the hopelessness of her expression. She looked like Bethany in the Deep Roads; tired, hurt, and just waiting it to end. Their original idea of saying quick goodbye before Varric and Hawke left to Kirkwall felt suddenly very stupid.  
“Have you heard that the Breach is closed? We just came from there. People are rolling out barrels and putting up a celebration.”, Hawke began.  
“Adan stood at the door and yelled.”, she replied quietly, staring at the ceiling.  
“Now that it is done, I’m leaving to Kirkwall with Varric. The Inquisition has served its purpose, and I can’t leave Kirkwall on its own for too long.”, Hawke said. “Maybe we will meet again. You could come to visit.”  
“No, Garrett.” she said, sounding numb. “The Veil is repaired. He will build me another prison, only without Wisdom this time. And this time, it will be far worse. I don’t think I can bear the thought of having and raising my children there, and telling them lies about the world outside because truth is too cruel. Their father will tell them wonderful stories, visit just long enough to make another baby, and then lock us away again.”  
She turned to look at Hawke, and he saw there were tears in her eyes.  
“You promised me something for helping you. I don’t know how to find Flemeth, and there is no time. Give me a knife, and I will bless you for your mercy. Even though I don’t know if you need blessings of a failed god.”  
“Wait a minute.”, Hawke said, alarmed. “Tell me in simple words what is going on. I don’t understand half of it. Small words, straight to the point.”  
“My whole family was imprisoned by Dread Wolf when I was just a baby. I was raised in a cell about the size of this room. It was my whole world for over three thousand years. Wisdom and Fen’Harel were my teachers and prison guards. When the Breach opened, my prison was cracked open, and I escaped. World was nothing like I expected. Dread Wolf hunted me down, bound me to him magically, and got me pregnant to make a new pantheon for him. That is why I’m so sick. And now that Veil is repaired, Fen’Harel is going to take me back and lock me away. I would sooner die.”, Iveani said, tears of desperation falling along her cheeks.  
“Dread Wolf as elvhen god?”, Hawke said slowly, blinking his eyes. “The god Merrill told tales about? “  
“Yes.”, Iveani replied. “He is holding hostages. My father and siblings. Their survival is dependent on my good behaviour. I know it is lot to take in, but he is as real as you or me. And he will kill you. Just give me the knife and leave. Pull back, Hawke. This is a fight you can’t win.“  
Hawke sighed.  
“And who’s on your side, Iveani? Certainly not Fen’Harel.”  
“I am.”, she replied.  
“I’ve never liked even odds.”, Hawke considered. “Two against one sounds much better. ”  
“You can’t be serious.”, Iveani felt cold all over. “No, Hawke. I just need you to give me a knife.”  
“Listen, Iveani.”, Hawke said, taking her hands in his. “I wouldn’t leave a dog to your fate. I failed Carver and Bethany, and my mother, and I almost failed my city. I know something about crappy situations. But I wouldn’t have lasted this long without Varric and the rest of my friends. You can’t beat these odds alone. I can help you find Flemeth; we’ve met. Last time I saw her, my friend summoned her to Sundermount, near Kirkwall.”  
“Sundermount?”, a tiny spark of hope flickered in Iveani’s eyes.  
“We took an amulet to Mythal’s altar there. We are all set up to go. I could take you with us.”, Hawke spoke quickly. “We could leave, right now.”  
But she was already giving up. He could tell.  
“He said he will kill one of them if I escape. I have to choose which one. And Fen’Harel would make Inquisition hunt us. The Herald does anything he wants, and they will never let me leave with you.”, Iveani said.  
“The Inquisition is made of humans, Iveani. We don’t do blind loyalty. Except some religious lunatics.”, Hawke said slowly, an idea coming to his mind. “And no man should separate what the Maker has blessed.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“We should marry. If we were married, nobody would blink an eye for you leaving with me. In Kirkwall, I have friends. An army. A whole city. It would be far better place to solve this problem of yours and look for Flemeth. Fen’Harel can’t just appear and drag you back to prison. Not without getting through City Guard, an army of templars and me first. They wouldn’t stand for someone stealing their Viscountess.”  
Iveani just stared at him.  
Taking a small break, Hawke added:  
“And really. You are already pregnant with Dread Puppy. Do you think that marrying me and becoming the Viscountess of Kirkwall _could_ make it significantly worse?”  
“Dread Puppy?”, she repeated, not believing her own ears.  
“Yes. I hardly can wait for it. Behold, good citizens of Kirkwall. Here’s my heir. The Dread Puppy, an adorable ball of fur with six eyes.”, Hawke’s eyes shone with glee. “And my wife, who strangles people with Veil. The nobles would not dare to complain about taxes after that.”  
“You have understand that you are going to die.”, she tried to appease his reason for last time. But Garrett Hawke didn’t seem to have any.  
“I’ve always wanted to laugh at my death.”, Hawke said. He could not be moved from that stance.

Ten minutes later, mother Giselle married them in Andrastian ceremony. With alchemist Adan and renewed author Varric Tethras as honorable witnesses, Mother Giselle declared that what Maker had united, no man should tear asunder, and Iveani kissed a human for first time in her life.  
Varric wept for Hawke’s happiness, and Iveani wept for his inevitable death. Hawke didn’t weep, but smiled widely and accepted congratulations.  
“I never thought I would see this day.”, Varric laughed, wiping his tears on his sleeve.  
“Neither did I.”, Iveani said, feeling unreal.  
“I knew it from the beginning.”, Hawke declared. “Can’t help but admire dangerous women. “  
“We should get going. The ship to Kirkwall waits for no man, not even recently married ones.”, Varric grinned.  
“Do you have packing up to do?”, Hawke asked his wife, who shook her head.  
“The cloak, and my blanket. I don’t own anything else.”, she said. Hawke wrapped them both around her for warmth, while Varric brought the horses to front of the cabin.

The celebration outside was just starting, and the people were dancing when Garrett Hawke lifted up his feverish wife on the saddle in front of him and they started the long ride towards the coast where Varric had arranged a ship to wait for them.

By the time Commander Cullen saw first signs of unmarked army appearing from the mountains, Hawke and Iveani were boarding the ship which would take them to Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get today's chapter early. The next update is probably on Monday, because I'm taking the weekend off to write a chapter for Abelas and a Siren Song and another for Steal a Moment. Also posting one of those promised "what if"-stories for Wrath fans.


	18. Kirkwall archives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of letters from Kirkwall Archives.
> 
> Inspired by Seneschal Bran's excellent administrative skills:  
> http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_City-State_of_Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, elven sentences are from FenxShiral.

Lady Montilyet,  
  


Kirkwall and Viscount Hawke are much saddened to hear about your losses at Haven. We offer our condolences, but unfortunately, there is nothing more to offer. Kirkwall will spend years to rebuild the damage, and we must concentrate our efforts on that.

Your description of Inquisitor Trevelyan declaring how she will fight to restore order would be much more enchanting if we haven’t already received a different version of the tale, stating that Inquisition shall fight Corypheus. Understandably you are eager for our help, but it might take some time before viscount has time to read your letter and reply with his decision. There are six wooden crates filled with urgent letters he must read and write answers for, and your request has been filed in the bottom of seventh crate.

I was frankly scandalized to hear that some people in your new fortress believe that Viscount Hawke had captured an elf. I thought that the Herald of Andraste would pay more attention to rites of Andrastian faith performed by her own chaplain. Our new Viscountess has proven to be a positive influence on daily administration, because she is extremely skilled in writing polite threat letters to deluded, foolish interlopers. We leave the ugly and graphic threat letters to Viscount, as always. Your efforts have not gotten you that far yet, but I kindly suggest that doing something to a rift above Bone Pit would go a long way to repair our goodwill towards Inquisition. Kirkwall has not forgotten that Seeker Cassandra kidnapped our Viscount for Divine and left me to deal with templars driven mad by red lyrium.

In greatest respect to you,

seneschal Bran.

\--

Inquisitor Trevelyan,

We thank you for your personal letter regarding your quest against Corypheus. However, I have known you since you were a babe in swaddling clothes. My son is your cousin four times removed, from your mother’s side. I don’t believe that you are unable to figure out what is wrong with the Wardens without Viscount’s help. Your people have demanded resources from other city states in Free Marches using Warden treaties, so I think it highly unlikely you don’t have contacts in the Wardens, especially after Viscountess mentioned there is a Warden called Blackwall serving in your Inner Circle.

Your empty, polite interest in our Viscount’s welfare is noted. His presence in Kirkwall has done much good. It has been two months since his arrival, and after he got fed up with administrative work, he went out and cleaned the Gallows of infected templars. I have not forgiven templars for trying to arrange a rebellion against him, because I got saddled with unpleasant and potentially very fatal position of provisional viscount. So I am very pleased to tell you that the problem has been dealt with, and the stench of burned bodies should go away in few days.

On Viscountess’ behalf, I must also decline your request to ask her to travel to Skyhold. On Viscount’s behalf, I was asked to pass a personal greeting to your Fade advisor regarding Viscountess’ invitation. It’s written below from dictation. Viscount amuses himself with studying curse words in elvish and flinging them at nobility at parties. I asked Viscountess what it means, and she told me the translation is “Shove a tree up to your ass.”

In greatest respect to you,  
adahl su nar masa.

Seneschal Bran.

 

\--

 

Spymaster,

I remember you from Lothering. You were the red-haired trickster who always made me uncomfortable with your creative ideas about the Maker. I can’t say I’m surprised you have joined the army of faithful.

I’m not a woman to write flowery turns of phrase, so let’s get straight to point. You pissed me off with your attempt to kidnap Hawke’s wife on Tuesday night. One of your five agents, the blond man with freckles, survived the attack and met his Maker after a field trial which ended in a death sentence. The remains have been cremated. I trust you send news to their families.

Under my watch, people can sleep safely in their own homes without having to be afraid of being carted off somewhere in the middle of the night. Viscountess Iveani Hawke is a citizen of Kirkwall, and under protection of the City Guard. And since your agents broke into her bedroom and attempted to subdue a pregnant woman with poison darts – and no, there isn’t such thing as a harmless poison -, she is under my personal protection as well. You go through me to get her.

Fuck off.

Aveline Hendyr  
Guard Captain of Kirkwall.


	19. Sleepless in Kirkwall.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke fears he's developing insomnia. And it's Dread Wolf's fault.

Veil over Kirkwall was so thin that Iveani was frankly surprised it had not fell down completely when the Breach happened. Kirkwall was not a place where any Dreamer mage would have lived voluntarily, because the Fade was filled with aggressive spirits and memories of loss, death and despair. Just entering the Fade there caused her pain, and for that reason, she kept well clear from Gallows and Darktown.  
For her own comfort, Iveani had begun sealing the Hawke Estate off the Fade, but the work was slow and she was still halfway through the first room. It took most of her mana to shield herself from hungry spirits each night, leaving little to use during the day. Unfortunately the effort left her tired and vulnerable to outside influences. To Dread Wolf, more specifically.

Iveani was prepared for anger, certainly. Or vengefulness. Violence. But it was none of those things. Fen’Harel simply watched her for a moment, and then offered one of his faint, slanted smiles.  
“Viscountess of Kirkwall, vhenan?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Your escape plans keep getting better. You have saved me the trouble of tracking you down, and made sure that keeping an eye on you is more trouble than it’s worth. The Fade over Kirkwall is too dark to delve deep.”  
“I believe it is the place where magisters originally breached the Fade to enter Golden City.”, Iveani said. “The streets in oldest parts of the city are built like glyphs, and there are blood grooves in the sewers, leading down. Hawke found research belonging Seekers of Truth, who called themselves a Band of Three. I haven’t pieced it all together yet, but he said that Merrill has few pieces I’m still missing.”  
“It is best if you leave this be.” Fen’Harel said strictly. “And do not change the original subject. You ran away, and married a shemlen.”  
“You would have imprisoned me again. With the baby.” Iveani lifted her chin high, trying to project confidence she didn’t feel.  
“I would.” he nodded. “But as it is, catching you is more trouble than it’s worth. I think I’ll leave you where you are. I have my hands full with Inquisition, and the recent relocation to Tarasyl’an Tel’as. Corypheus must be stopped, and it hardly makes difference where you spend these months. It’s apparent that you are well guarded.”  
“What?” Iveani couldn’t believe her own ears.  
“You heard me.”, Fen’Harel said. “You can stay where you are until our child is born. If Kirkwallers can fend off Leliana’s spies, I don’t need to be worried about Tevinters stealing you either. “  
“I don’t know whether I hate you or love you.” she whispered to Fen’Harel. Iveani felt relieved, but also annoyed. She didn’t want her freedom to be offered her like a gift, a trinket given for good behaviour.  
“Probably both.” he said, combing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The line between the two is blurred, and far easier to cross than humans think. It was like that with Creators. I hated them, but my heart still wept for losing them.”  
“You don’t make our relationship sound beneficial to either of us.”  
“Vhenan, we are last two relics of dying race. I need you as much as you need me. “  
“It is hard to come terms with all this. You took away my family. You imprisoned me for thousands of years. You deflowered me to prove I’m yours. You made me pregnant, threatening to kill my siblings and father. And yet...” Iveani stopped, not being able to find the right words to explain the complexity of situation.  
“If you killed me, or left me, you would be alone. And if I lost you, I would be a different man. Humbler, I think, and bitter, desperate to undo what has happened to People. Strained by the consequences of my choices.” Fen’Harel snorted. “It’s useless to ask why things are as they are, ma lath. The shemlen influence of black and white thinking is showing on you. You are my heart, and I am yours. One doesn’t question if he needs a heart, or whether he hates it or loves it. He simply has it inside his chest, or he dies.”  
“Yes.” Iveani gave up. “I fear you are right.”

“Let me show you Tarasyl’an Tel’as.”, Fen’Harel changed the subject, bending the Fade around them. “It has been much improved from the last time you saw it.”  
He gave her a tour around the fortress, explaining what the Inquisition was making of it. The discussion was light, and it was soothing to feel his magic melting in hers, even in the Fade. Although the people around her in Kirkwall were kind, they did not see the world as she saw it. She had missed speaking her own language, the importance of speech as whole.  
Fen’Harel had explained to her that the shemlen saw the world as a place changed by touch, the work of their hands. When they cast spells, they reached, forced, and pushed the energy into certain form. The elvhen spoke words of power. The speech was sacred, important. Bodies, less so. It was the word which changed the world. It made awful lot of sense, Iveani mused, to think that sex didn’t make elven babies but the words did. Touching like a Creator.  
“This is your latest fresco?” Iveani asked with interest. “You have painted the Inquisitor in old style.”  
“I would sooner paint you.” Fen’Harel told her, pressing his body against her back.  
Her clothes changed, and Iveani couldn’t help but smile and shake her head when she saw that horrible shirt Inquisitor always wore. Except the shining copper buttons were open, revealing her breasts, and Fen’Harel was pressing kisses on her neck. She was still laughing when she felt his hands on her nipples, and his warm breath against her ear. This was Fade, old and familiar, and it would not change anything.  
“You are glorious, vhenan.” he said, lighting up her flame with clever kisses.  
There was a small curve in her stomach.  
“Are you like this in waking world?” he asked.  
“Yes.”, she admitted.  
“Glorious.”, he breathed.  
His hand slipped between her naked legs, stroking her. She was caught in delicious trap between his hands. One rested on her neck, feeling her pulse, while other teased, tormented, pleasured. Iveani was like a strung bow in his hands. She whimpered and opened her thighs for him, rocking her hips against the hardness of his cock.  
“Fen’Harel!” she pleaded. “ _Take me to sky.”_  
His magic touched hers, and for one glorious moment Iveani felt at peace. She was a dying star, the moment of explosion before hurt. Her lips were cold, and her hurts forgotten.

\--

Hawke thought he was developing insomnia. And it was Dread Wolf’s fault. Maker, he hated the man, god, wolf, whatever he was. He kept Hawke awake almost every night by fucking his wife, who slept next to him.

In his slumber, Hawke heard the breath catching in Iveani’s throat, and suddenly he was wide awake. He saw her lips parting, and her hips rose from the mattress as her back arched. The skimpy nightgown Orana had given her was almost see-through in the moonlight coming from the window, and Hawke could see the outlines of her limbs. Her nipples grew hard, sticking through the silk fabric. Oh, Maker.  
Hawke tried to ignore the whole thing by putting the pillow over his face, but she was rocking her hips now, making the bed move. Her frantic movements had pulled up her short nightshirt, revealing a sweet curve of ass and bare mound which made Hawke’s cock throb. Truly, the Dread Wolf took the whole concept of cuckolding into new heights. In six weeks of their marriage, Hawke had grown well informed in sexual habits of the Wolf, including the rhythm he liked to move in. He listened her wife whimpering in her sleep, and grit his teeth together. When Iveani spread her thighs open, slipping her leg over Hawke, he cursed and threw the stupid pillow on the floor. Dammit.  
“Fen’Harel!” she begged, and Hawke had never heard anything so beautiful than his wife in her desperate need for release. _“Vera em su tarasyl_.”  
Hawke had no idea what she was saying, but the concept was evident. Her body tensed even more, the small curve of her stomach a clear break in her slim silhouette, and she cried out as her orgasm took her.  
Her legs gave way, and she dropped back down on the mattress, limp as a rag doll. He saw the throbbing pulses on her skin. Oh, Andraste’s tits.  
“I swear to Maker, Dread Wolf, if you keep going on like this, I will hunt you down and turn you into a pelt on my floor.” Hawke growled.  
He was painfully hard and aroused, and the air in bedroom smelled like a wet woman.  
When he spoke, Iveani stirred. Her eyes opened, the violet still shadowed with dreams, and she looked at Hawke.  
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice sleepy. “I thought I heard you saying something.”  
“I’m fine.” Hawke lied. “Just go back to sleep. I have to take care of something.”  
“The nobles make you work too hard.” she said, her eyelids already closing again.  
She drifted back into Fade, while Hawke sat up. He walked stiffly into his study, closing the door carefully, and sat down on the chair by his desk. He pulled open the third drawer on the left. After Hawke had brought his wife back to Kirkwall, he had learned the utility of keeping a bottle of lubricant and rags in his study. Ignoring the problem didn’t make it go away. If he dealt with it, he might be able to fall asleep again. Maybe.  
Taking his painfully hard cock in hand, he started masturbating. He tried thinking of Isabela, or the ladies of Blooming Rose, but only image in his mind was his wife squirming in lust and pleading the Dread Wolf to take her.

Maker, how Hawke hated him.

\--

When he finally staggered downstairs, feeling nauseous for lack of sleep, Merrill was already there.  
“You look terrible, Hawke.” the woman chirped. “You have huge bags under your eyes. They make you look a decade older than you are.”  
“The mistress asked to tell you that she went to market with Bodahn.” Orana said, curtsying.  
Hawke glanced at sun, which had risen hours ago.  
“All right.” he said gloomily, sitting down and reaching for jam sandwich. Merrill liked those, and Hawke didn’t have energy to ask for something else. He chewed on yucky sandwich and asked:  
“Do you know what _pala em elvar’el_ means _?”_  
Merrill blushed, giggling.  
“I thought you would have figured it out yourself, Hawke.”  
“Enlighten me.”, he commanded.  
“I’m not certain, but I think it means ‘fuck me harder’.”  
“I should have known that.” Hawke said, feeling surly.


	20. Hunting season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke decides it's time for payback.

Two could play the game, Hawke decided as he stretched his shoulders. The door opened and his wife entered in that cursed little nightgown Hawke couldn’t help but admire. It was thin, flimsy and hugged her curves. She had grown a small bump since leaving Skyhold.   
“Are you going to sleep in your leathers?” Iveani asked, frowning.   
“Complaining about shemlen smell again?” Hawke asked hopefully.  
“Of course not.” she said lightly, passing him. “It’s not my place to criticise.”  
“Don’t be all Vivienne on me.”, Hawke huffed. “You are my wife. Nagging comes with the job. I expect you to tell if I’m offending people’s senses.”  
A spark of real amusement passed in her expression.   
“In that case, Garrett, no. If you are going to wear your leathers, you’re going to sleep somewhere else.” she told him. “They _rank_.”

Of course they did. Hawke had made special effort sparring with Aveline until he was certain he absolutely reeked of sweat. Obeying his wife like a good little viscount, Hawke went to bathroom. The smell of his armor was so rancid that it was a relief to throw the leathers away to be cleaned. He washed his body thoroughly with soap and watched himself appraisingly from mirror. Handsome man, Hawke.  
He hummed under his breath as he dragged the bathtub in the room.   
“Want to share?” he offered. “This is large enough for two, and it was a hot day.”  
“I’m fine, thank you.” Iveani said automatically.  
“Suit yourself.” Hawke shrugged. “I was going to give you first dips in the water. Cold, nice water.”  
His wife put down the book she was reading and asked shrewdly:   
“What are you trying to gain, Garrett? You are worst manipulator I’ve ever seen.”  
“I’m trying to suck you up so I could finally get some sleep.” Hawke told her honestly. “I thought that sleep deprivation came after the baby, not before.”  
“Ah.” Iveani sighed. “You should have told me. I could help you sleep. You know that very well.”  
“I thought to try traditional methods. A nice, cooling bath.” he said lightly. ”And holding you would help. I sleep better not alone.”  
“Holding me?” she asked carefully.   
“Like you were a Chantry mother.” he swore. “The kind at the actual Chantry, not like in Blooming Rose.”  
She considered it for a moment, and then shrugged.   
“Why not? But if your methods don’t work, we will try it my way.”  
“Excellent.” Hawke said happily. Then he proceeded to bathe with meticulous care, making sure she got a great view of his best assets. If she noticed that he flexed his muscles far more than one needed to scrub his back clean, or that standing in tub and bending down to clean his feet wasn’t to wash, but show her his fine ass and thighs, she said nothing. Maybe she thought it was just odd shemlen behaviour, but Hawke was well pleased when he saw that tips of Iveani’s ears had turned faintly pink. The book, a boring treatise on Starkhaven grain trade, was certainly not the reason.

“You smell better now.” she remarked as he slipped his arm over her waist, holding her. To ensure his gentlemanly conduct, Hawke had played it safe and jacked off twice when he was supposed to read Aveline’s weekly report in his study.   
“That’s a pity.” he replied. “I was hoping that Dread Wolf caught my scent. I would like to have a word with him.”   
“You would not.” she said sternly.   
“If I rankled badly enough, do you think he would run off with tail between his legs?” Hawke speculated. “What is his tail like? Is it very flexible? Adventurous? I’ve always wondered if he could use it creatively. Like those terrible tentacle monsters which are popular on smutty literature.”  
Her shoulders started to shake with silent laughter.   
“Before you ask, no, I haven’t done any _things_ with his tail.” Iveani said.  
“What a disappointment.” Hawke sighed. “Could you ask him if he has? For me? “  
“No, Hawke.”  
“Is this a bad thing? Going from ‘Garrett’ to ‘Hawke’? What does it mean in wife-speak?”  
“It means that you should stop talking and sleep.” she advised him.   
“If you see Dread Wolf, tell him I’d like to have a word.”  
“I’m not that keen to become a widow.” she noted with a yawn.   
“So you do like me.”, Hawke was very pleased.   
“I would like you a lot more if you shut up.”, Iveani told him. “Sleep, Garrett.”

But Hawke did not sleep for long. Like every night, he woke up when she stirred in her arms. As soon as he was certain Dread Wolf was going on at it again, he reached for the velvet rope hanging from the ceiling and pulled. Mere moments later, an ear-wrenching sound of echoed in the garden under their open bedroom window. Iveani startled awake, sitting up.   
“What was that?” she asked, her eyes wide.   
“I think it’s a wyvern hunting horn.” Hawke said, yawning. In fact, he was certain of it, because the horn was his, looted from Chateau Haine. “Don’t mind it. The noise is terrible, but the Orlesian families just love it. It’s a cultural thing. Hunting season and all that.”  
“Fenedhis lasa. The shemlen are mad. Blowing horns in the middle of the night.”  
“It might last some days.” he warned her. “Until they find their prey.”  
“Hopefully soon.” Iveani muttered, falling back to pillows.

When the sun rose, Hawke was feeling as tired as usually, but he was gleeful. It had taken three blows from hunting horn, but Dread Wolf was the one with aching cock, now. Ha. The urchin he had hired to blow the horn deserved an extra gold coin for his efforts.   
“Creators, I’m tired.” his poor wife said. She looked like death warmed over. “This was a terrible night.”  
“It was. A darkness spell and a late morning?” he suggested.   
“Yes.”, Iveani agreed. With a flicker of her fingers, the room was wreathed in impermeable darkness. She slumped over his chest and fell asleep.

It took five nights without sex or sleep and twelve gold coins before Dread Wolf appeared in Hawke’s dream. He was a huge, black creature with six red eyes.   
“You have to stop fucking my wife.” Hawke told the creature. “I’m getting fed up with your nightly visitations. Go bother someone else.”  
The wolf looked at him, bared its sharp teeth and smirked.   
“World is full of women. Maybe not so many women who would like a huge furry monster, but I’m sure some exist. Leave Iveani be. You’ve tormented her enough. Or I will kill you.”  
The monster didn’t look very threatened. The sky around them started to darken, and when the wolf growled, the sound made little hairs on Hawke’s neck stand up.   
“I’ve killed better men than you.” he said, holding his sword. “Come on, Fen’Harel.”  
Hawke was just lunging at the monster, when Fade shattered around him, and he blinked, seeing Iveani’s pale face above her. There were tears falling on her cheeks, and she looked frightened.   
“My stomach hurts.” she said. “Get help, Garrett.”


	21. Sundermount

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke meets his mother-in-law.

“I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do.”, Merrill said, blinking her eyes. “It’s all in Creators’ hands now. We have to wait and see if the bleeding stops.”  
“No.”, Iveani snarled, looking frenzied, her eyes glazed with rage and fear.   
“You.”, she turned her glare towards Hawke, who stood by the door, feeling useless. “You get me to Sundermount. Now. I don’t care how you do it, as long as you do it. And be quick about it.”  
There was something in his wife’s voice, a terrible weirding, which told Hawke this was not the time to ask questions or suggest a saner way to treat a miscarriage than a three- hour ride in dark. He just nodded and ran downstairs to steal the fastest horse in Kirkwall.

 

It was raining, and night was dark, but the horse Hawke had stolen from lady Harimann was sure-footed and fast. The mare seemed to enjoy the outing, galloping along the treacherous twisting paths of Wounded Coast like it was participating in a race. In a way, it was.  
Iveani was sitting in front of him, wrapped into Hawke’s second-best traveling cloak. She was curled into a little ball, holding her arms around his chest for support. Her eyes were open, but it was clear that she paid no attention to her surroundings. All her attention had been turned inwards, and her mouth was an angry line of determination. Hawke could smell the blood, and inwardly, he cringed. But he kept his mouth shut and spurred the horse to go on.

The Dalish camp was no longer at the feet of Sundermount, but the winding path leading up to mountain was still there.   
“I hope the damned spiders and skeletons haven’t come back.” Hawke said as he lifted Iveani down from the horse.  
“I don’t think so.”, Merrill mused. Her horse was foaming from mouth, and Merrill patted the poor creature. “The mountain must be running out of dead elders at some point.”  
“We can’t stay to fight them.” Iveani shook her head. “You have to carry me to Mythal’s altar, Garrett.”  
When he lifted her up in his arms, Hawke noticed her skin was scorching hot.   
“I’m sorry, Iveani.” he said in quiet voice as he started to climb up the mountain path. “Surely he wouldn’t blame you for something which is not your fault.”  
“He has blamed me for things which aren’t my fault for my whole life.” Iveani replied, her eyes bright and feverish. “This would be no different. He told me that he hates me because I’m my father’s daughter. But he allowed me to live, and bear his child, because he was my mother’s lover once.”  
Hawke tasted bile in his mouth. He wanted to retch.   
“Oh, Maker.” he muttered. “I should have killed the bastard. That’s sick.”  
“My family will not die for this.” she said between her teeth.   
“What are you going to do at the altar? Pray?” Hawke asked, stepping over a large boulder on the path.  
“No. Elvhen gods don’t care about prayers. The only thing they respect is strength, and I have to gather mine.” she said, slumping against his chest. Hawke shook his head and started walking faster.

They finally reached the edge of cliff where the weatherworn altar of Mythal stood.   
“Put me down, Garrett. You can’t come closer.” Iveani said, opening her eyes. She stood on shaky feet, straightened herself and rolled back her shoulders, like a man preparing for a battle. Then she walked to Mythal’s altar.   
“I hope she knows what she is doing here.” Merrill said in worried voice. “You remember what happened last time with Asha’Bellanar’s amulet.”  
“I do.”, Hawke admitted grumpily.

If Iveani heard their exchange, she paid it no attention. She wrung the bloody hem of her skirt until her hands were stained with blood, and then she slammed her palms against Mythal’s altar.   
“Ma halani, mamae.” she shouted, her voice loud and demanding attention. She unleashed her magic, baring her teeth in a snarl, and Merrill fell on her knees when the mountain trembled under them. There was a hideous sound of ancient stone cracking.   
“Ma halani!” she screamed again, angrier this time, and an impossibly bright tornado of light rose from the ground around her, lighting up the darkness. Her magic pierced the heavens, shooting upwards like a star reversed.   
“Oh, fuck.” Hawke cursed as Merrill pulled his sleeve and pointed at the mountaintop. It had separated from the rest of Sundermount, and it was floating in the air. Iveani was shining like a torch in the darkness, and Hawke could have sworn that he saw her stomping her feet when she held her arms up, guiding the huge mass of stone over the cliff.  
“Mamae, ma halani!” she screeched like furious child and dropped the mountaintop down from the Sundermount. A huge boom echoed in the magic-lit darkness when the stone hit the ground, and Hawke heard horses screaming. She lifted her arms up again, and the lightning struck down, nearly splitting Mythal’s altar in two. There were no words in her cry now, just furious, shrill screaming.  
The tornado of light was still burning through the sky, brighter than the Breach in the far south, and lightings were raining all over the place. Hawke made a mental note not to anger his wife. Ever.  
And then it all just stopped. The storm ended, and the light died down. Hawke saw a woman standing in front of his wife, raising Iveani’s chin with her metal gloves.  
“All these years, dear girl, and you still can throw a horrible temper tantrum. Your father would have been proud.” Flemeth said fondly. “But be a good child and refrain from breaking my altars in future. I don’t have that many of them left.”  
“I needed to get your attention somehow.” Iveani said. It looked like she was... sulking? Hawke couldn’t tell. Maybe a stray rock had hit him on the head.   
“That you did.” Flemeth agreed in amused voice. “And I came, like mothers are wont to do when they hear a terrible racket and screaming. We have a moment, before the dead  alerted by your tantrum come too. Now tell me what you need me for.”

Hawke didn’t understand anything of Iveani’s long rant in elvish. Flemeth didn’t seem to have any problem following the discussion. She interrupted the flow of Iveani’s speech few times, maybe asking or commenting some detail, and let her continue. If Merrill understood what they were speaking about, she was not in state to share any details. The Dalish renegade looked like she was ready to faint.

“Come here, boy.” Flemeth told Hawke. “Are you a Connobar or an Osen, I wonder? We shall see. It’s always the same story, but I have hard time recalling which one of them had a beard.”  
Hawke took tentative steps closer, gripping the hilt of his sword.   
“Be a good lad and fetch me a trinket from the cave.” Flemeth said. “A golden ball. Child’s toy. It should be there somewhere. At least it was the last time I came here.”   
“Mother.”, Iveani said, frowning at Flemeth.   
“I was merely checking if you remembered this part.”, Flemeth noted. “And yes, lad, the blood should sing true when you touch the ball. Otherwise you will die.”  
Iveani took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. Her warm blood stained Hawke’s palm, and her face was very pale.   
“Will you be all right?” Hawke asked worriedly.   
“Just don’t linger.” she said with a small smile which did nothing to convince him. “And take Merrill with you.”

 

He felt a strange pull in his bloodstained hand. Hawke wondered if being the Herald of Andraste was like this as he strode through the cavern. Unfortunately, the spiders had returned, and he could see the undead stirring as well.   
“Why didn’t these blasted creatures haunt us on our way up?” he cursed as he cleaved through a skeleton.   
“Maybe they like only elves.” Merrill said, but another shade lunging at them interrupted the talk.   
Following the pulling sensation, Hawke and Merrill went deeper inside the cave complex. The tingling on his palm grew stronger, and finally they stood in front of an empty wall.   
“What should I do?” Hawke asked Merrill. “You are expert on creepy magic.”  
“I don’t know. I would knock. It’s never hurts to be polite.” Merrill suggested naively.  
Hawke sighed and knocked on the wall with his bloody fist.  
The wall vanished and revealed a doorway.

It was a small chamber with faded paintings on the walls. The room itself was covered in dust and items which had been ruined by passing of years. There had been books, once, and the remains of large wooden piece looked like it had been a wardrobe a long time ago. One item still remained intact. A cot made of pure gold and shaped like a dragon. Mildew had taken bedclothes long time ago, but Hawke could still see where a baby was supposed to sleep under protective wings of a dragon. The dragon’s eyes were rubies, and its teeth were made from largest pearls Hawke had ever seen, sharpened to cutting edge.   
“It’s true.” Merrill said, far more interested in paintings than the cot. “Look, Hawke.”  
She gestured at painting. There was an elven man, tall and imposing, painted with a halo of a sunlight around him. And a woman, wreathed in a silver glow of the moon.   
“Elgar’nan, the All-Father. And Mythal, Great Protector.”, Merrill said with reverence. “Mythal is usually shown with five tulips, one for each of her children. Dirthamen, Falon’Din, Sylaise, Andruil, June. But this is different.”  
Mythal held a bundle in her arms, with little ears peeking from the golden cloth. The five tulips, their other children, grew at her feet.   
“I count six.” Hawke said.  
“That is the question.” Merrill explained with enthusiasm. “In last meeting of the clans, I heard a crackpot theory that Mythal and Elgar’nan had six children. Some Dalish claim that there is a fresco in Halamshiral, a copy of older work, but nobody has ever seen the original. So the theory was dismissed as heretical. But this painting and the cot… What if it was true? And if it was, what happened to their youngest? There are no mentions of his name anywhere. Did Fen’Harel lock him up like the rest of them?”  
There was something bright on the floor behind dragon’s tail. Hawke saw a golden ball on the floor. It had rolled on the corner and forgotten. Careful to use his bloody hand, he picked it up.   
“We can discuss paintings later.” he said, putting the ball in his pocket and looking at the cradle. “I’ll ask Iveani if she wants to take this.”  
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Merrill asked worriedly. “Elgar’nan was a God of Vengeance. I don’t mean to offend, but I’m not sure what he would think of a human baby sleeping in cradle meant for his baby.”  
“In this particular case, I don’t think it matters.” Hawke said.

Iveani was sitting on the ground and leaning her back against Mythal’s altar. She was talking in quiet voice with Flemeth. The rain had soaked her skirt and Hawke could see the pale pink puddle at her feet.   
“What could have been is already gone, child. It was too weak to hold on its own.” Flemeth said gently.   
“I know.” Iveani said. “I tried to keep it safe.”  
“All mothers do. And still we fail.” Flemeth told her, stroking Iveani’s cheek. “But there is something which can be salvaged, a different path, if you are willing to pay the cost. It’s nothing but a fragment of whole, but sometimes that is all we have left.”  
“The ball?” Iveani asked, sounding tired.  
“Yes.” Flemeth nodded.   
Wiping her face on her sleeve, Iveani shook her head and asked:   
“Do you ever regret what happened? Fen’Harel?”  
“I regret many things.” Flemeth replied. “But unlike our mutual friend, I try not to cling to it. He held his regrets so close that they poisoned his soul.”  
“I’m sorry, Iveani.” Hawke said as he stepped closer, feeling useless.   
Iveani looked up at him, and a strangled cry escaped her throat. Not able to find anything to say, Hawke kneeled down and put his arms around her. She clung to him with desperation, and wept.   
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.” she hiccupped. “I didn’t want it, but it was still mine.”  
“I know.” Hawke said, feeling a lump in his throat. “I was starting to get used to idea of us having a baby.”  
He didn’t understand why he felt such an acute sense of loss. But he still did, and he pressed his face against Iveani’s hair to hide his tears from Flemeth’s sharp, golden eyes. The old woman shook her head with strange, pitying expression before she turned into a dragon and took flight.


	22. Bitter taste.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iveani plans bitter revenge, and Hawke unknowingly saves Kirkwall once again.

They were laying under the frothy blanket, holding hands in the dark.   
“Mother told me I was their first baby who lived.” Iveani said. “She was pregnant four times before me, but always miscarried. My parents adopted instead, and never told anyone. When she became pregnant with me, they didn’t believe it would be any different. But I didn’t die. They were certain my siblings would feel threatened by a blood heir and attempt to kill me, so they hid me instead.”  
“I didn’t know elves were like that. But it makes sense.” Hawke replied. “Living forever, no illnesses... World would have been full of elves.”  
“I guess you are right.” Iveani answered. “I don’t know what to think. It’s better this way, because of Fen’Harel. I couldn’t bear a thought of sharing my fate with another. But it was still my baby.”  
She was silent for a moment and said:   
“I think I would have wanted to have a baby. Just not like this. Not for pantheon and hostages.”  
“I would have loved it.”, Hawke said. It was easier to say it in the dark, when he couldn’t see a thing. “I never thought I would find myself missing Dread Puppy, but I had gotten accustomed to idea of having a baby. Being a father. It was… a nice thing to look forward to. “  
Iveani squeezed his hand in the dark.   
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” she whispered. “Thank you, Garrett. For having enough room in your heart for it, even if things didn’t work out.”

 

For first four days, she was relieved. But then the reality set in, and she became angry. Iveani sat on estate balcony and watched the crowd of people heading to different directions. How there could be so many of them, and just two of the People? The recordings Hawke had found told the whole city had been built on the blood of her People. Why the shemlen, the stupid, ignorant, blind shemlen could scurry like ants on the yard and go wherever they wanted without people staring at them? Or how could they breed like rabbits, without a care in the world? It was simply unfair. One woman had three little ones trailing after her, and her round stomach declared there was fourth on the way. Four! She didn’t even have magic. What made her so much better at having babies than Iveani? Surely the world would have needed an elvhen baby far more than yet another shemlen. There were too many humans anyway, if some of them could spend their lives camping in the wilderness and pretending to be elves.  
The orb on her lap felt warm under her hands. She watched the pregnant woman haggling the price of linen tablecloth at “Robes by Jean Luc”. Even the way she stood annoyed Iveani. Damned show-off, massaging her back so everyone would surely see that carrying her baby made her tired.   
Her fingertips brushed against her foci. The immense power inside stirred, stretching like a sleepy predator. Iveani’s eyes narrowed, and she weighed the golden ball in her hands. One quick burst of mana, and the marketplace would explode. A controlled blast, which would bring down the Veil, and reach deep into the sewers of city, filling the blood grooves once again. The Hightown manors built to wealthiest slavers of old day would collapse, and take the outrageously annoying, too lucky shemlen woman with them. The humans had killed thousands of her People in this city and now they paraded with their children in a market built on the bones of her dead.

Her catastrophic train of thought was interrupted by yet another shemlen, who sat down next to her.   
“Orana bought pink pastries from the market. They have cream inside. I thought you might like to try one?” Hawke asked and held out a plate for her. He was carrying a tray.  
Iveani blinked.   
“You can’t offer me cakes.” she said irritably. This was ridiculous. She was a step away from causing a mass extinction of Kirkwall humans and her shemlen husband interrupted the whole thing by offering her pink creamy cakes. With tea, she judged from the scent floating from the painted porcelain pot.   
“Is there a rule against offering cakes I’m not familiar with?” Hawke asked as he poured tea in a big mug and handed it to Iveani. “Have you ever tasted them?”  
“Of course not. One doesn’t need to eat in the Fade.” Iveani said. Tea was good. She liked it black, for maximum effect.   
“What did you do there all day, then?”  
“Slept.” she snapped. “Watched dead memories. Listened Wisdom lecturing me.”  
“All right.” Hawke said, taking the plate of cakes and putting it away. “What’s bugging you?”  
“Humans.” she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Hawke. “You breed like rabbits, and you don’t even need children. You dare to show them off beneath my window, in a city which is built on the bones of my people. And Merrill is a hippy who likes to live in the woods and play re-enactment of the plight of elves! Do you have any idea how many Hightown spoiled brats have told me they want to ran off to woods to be Dalish? Like it was romantic and exciting life instead of misery and desperation? “  
Hawke didn’t answer, and Iveani found that irritating, too.   
“Do you have any idea what kind of shit they write about my parents?” she demanded, anger burning on her face. “There are hordes of humans dancing for the glory of Mythal and shaking their bare arses in the moonlight! And Fen’Harel! The God of noble rebellion! Do you have any idea what it felt like to find out that he was banging with my mother first? Do you think he makes comparisons?”  
Hawke still said nothing.   
“He shagged me under a tree my mother had planted for him when those two idiots decided to become lovers!” Iveani screamed. “And my mother brought me to that damned fortress, _on purpose_ , and then just sneaked around Skyhold until the deed was done. Hush, dear. Stop weeping. You can pull the leash from both ends. Blab, blab, blab! I had no idea that sex would hurt outside Fade, or that he would be in my head forever after!”  
Hawke picked the cakes off the serving plate and handed the plate to her.   
“What I’m supposed to do with this?” Iveani asked, glaring at him.  
“You could try throwing it against du Launcet’s wall. They are staring at you.” Hawke suggested.  
Iveani whirled around and saw it was true. There were at least three shemlen faces staring at her from the window of adjoining manor. The distance wasn’t long; all estates except the Viscount’s Keep were built side to side, and the neighbours on both sides had a clear view to Hawke’s balcony and garden. Her eyes narrowed.

The plate made a satisfying sound as it shattered against window frame, and Iveani was pleased to see the curious viewers took a step back.   
“Give me something heavier.” she commanded, and Hawke gave her the tray.   
Aiming a bit further to right, Iveani threw the heavy wooden tray at du Launcet’s’ window. The glass shattered into thousand little pieces, and she heard screaming from the inside.   
“Bring madame Dulci’s fainting couch!”  
“The smelling salts for Fifi and Babbette!”  
The window next to broken one was pushed open, and the red face of Comte du Launcet appeared.   
“Hawke! What do you think you are doing?” the man demanded.   
“Your household should know better than to goggle at your betters.” Iveani said, lifting her chin up. “They didn’t even try to hide behind curtains. Unforgivable.”  
“But...” the man opened and closed his mouth like a frog.   
“And it’s not ‘Hawke’ to you. You may address me as Viscountess Hawke.”, Iveani sniffed.  
She ignored the sputtering noble and took Hawke’s arm.   
“Come, Garrett. We need more upscale company. People yelling from windows is so…”  
“Like Fereldan fisherwomen promoting their fares, love?” Hawke suggested suavely.  
“Yes. That is exactly what I was thinking.” Iveani nodded.   
Together, they turned their backs at du Launcets and glided inside estate, very picture of indignity.


	23. Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill tries but fails to connect with her elvish heritage.  
> What Flemeth does when she takes a night off?  
> Hawke meets an old flame.  
> Failures lead to new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found this gem of discussion from DA2:  
>  Isabela: So you say a witch helped you get to Kirkwall.  
>  Aveline: Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds.  
>  Isabela: Oh. Her. I see her at the Hanged Man sometimes.  
>  Aveline: What?  
>  Isabela: Threatens to turn you into a toad and eat your babies if you beat her at cards.  
>  Aveline: You're... joking.  
>  Isabela: Perhaps.

“I can order while we wait for others to show up. What do you want?” Hawke asked as he stood up.  
“I want one of pink sparkly things Isabela used to buy for me.”, Merrill said eagerly.   
“Iv?”  
“Pick something I’d like.” Iveani replied, looking around in Hanged Man. She had never been in a tavern before, and the bottles behind counter were all the same to her.

“I would really like to know what happened in the Sundermount.” Merrill began tentatively as Hawke left them alone.  
“I thought you might ask about it.”, Iveani said, feeling reserved.   
“This is a huge reveal for Dalish culture. To think that Mythal and Elgar’nan had six children instead of five! The painting must be preserved in a museum.”   
“There is no such thing as a Dalish culture.” Iveani said sharply. “It died centuries ago, with the Dales.”  
Merrill blinked her round, green eyes.   
“I don’t understand.” she said. “I thought you of all people would… You must know so much. Even the language alone would be a gift for the Dalish, since we have only some phrases and words. I _felt_ your magic. It thrummed deep in my bones. It felt like home.”  
“You are not one of the People.” Iveani replied. “You are a human. The People are dead. Whatever remains, whatever blood you have in your veins, is not what you pretend it is. The world of elves is gone. It is not going to come back, no matter how many humans draw vallaslin on their faces and dance for the glory of the Creators.”  
Merrill looked like a kicked puppy.   
“It’s not our fault.” Merrill said in small voice. “We tried. We still do. What we were supposed to do when the quickening happened? Or when the People understood that having a human baby meant having a baby who lived? We cried out for the Creators, but they didn’t answer.”  
Iveani didn’t know what to say.   
“I have spent my whole life believing that not giving up is important. That the shape of my ears is something I can’t change, but spirit can endure. That the People aren’t simply gone, not as long as we remember them. Even if we are not the same.” Merrill’s voice was firm with conviction.  
“But what is the use?” Iveani asked. “Why should you cling to something which is already gone? It only cuts you deeper. You don’t even know what you are asking for. What if the world of your stories is not what you thought it would be, but something different? Something far worse?”  
“You just have to trust your heart.” Merrill said simply. “You must have trusted Hawke if you married him. Even if you have given up on elves and decided to have a human baby, it doesn’t make you less. The Dalish don’t think so.”  
Iveani opened her mouth to disagree. She had not given up elves, and the Hawke thing wasn’t like Merrill thought, and nobody had asked the fake Dalish their opinion. But then she just decided not to say anything. It would do no good to continue this line of conversation.   
“I will think of it.”, she sighed. “But nothing from Sundermount is going to museum for shemlen to stare at. They are _my_ things.”  
“I have a relic I could use your help with.” Merrill said miserably. “Please.”  
Deciding it would not do to make Hawke’s friend cry, Iveani added:   
“All right. I’m not certain if I can help you, but I can try.”  
“It would be lovely, thank you.” Merrill smiled eagerly.   
She truly looked like a puppy, eager to please. Only a yapping tail was missing. For a moment, Iveani wondered if she had just made a terrible mistake. But it was too late to change her mind, because Hawke was bringing in the drinks, and she saw Aveline entering the Hanged Man.

“Hawke. Do I need to arrest a Viscount for stealing a horse – and don’t think I’m not ready to do it – or do you have a very good explanation for this?” Aveline demanded, shaking a parchment in her fist.  
“I returned the beast with apologies when I didn’t need it anymore. And I offered to buy it from her.”, Hawke scratched his beard.   
“Explanation, Hawke.”  
“Iveani started to bleed heavily in the middle of the night. You know Merrill; healing is not her forte and there was nothing she could to do. I had to take Iveani to her mother’s place.” Hawke sighed. “I needed something faster than a hired nag.”  
“Ah.” Aveline crumbled the paper and put it into her pocket. “You should have come to barracks instead. I thought the healers of the city would have forgiven you about mages, at least enough to treat your wife. A grudge is not acceptable reason to deny help from someone who needs it badly.”  
“It made no difference in the end. She lost the baby, but at least we tried.” Hawke said. “She’s upset, and angry.”  
They both looked at Iveani, who was laughing at Varric’s story.   
“Throwing tea tray at de Launcet clearly helped.” Hawke noted, pleased.  
“I got the complaint from Guillaume de Launcet about a broken window.” Aveline fished another parchment from her pocket. “I’m willing to let it slide, this time, but you have to stop encouraging Iveani to pick up your bad habits. Like breaking other people’s property and getting drunk in seedy taverns.”  
“There are worse ways to spend one’s time.” Hawke grinned and ordered another.

\--

The Hanged Man was almost empty, and Iveani looked at her husband with a calculating look. This was not Hawke’s finest moment. His mouth was open and he was drooling on the table, having passed out while Iveani had asked a guardsman to walk Merrill home safely. Aveline had left hours ago, mentioning that some people had to wake up and go to work in the morning.   
“I’m sorry, Iveani. I asked him to stop after seventh pint, but it didn’t work.” Varric shook his head.  
“How many did he drink?” Iveani asked. She hadn’t thought of counting them.   
“I lost the count after twelve.”  
She just shook her head, feeling sad. It was far easier to banish a demon than change man’s will. She did not like seeing Hawke like this.  
Door behind them creaked, and Iveani felt the orb in her pocket stirring.   
“Mother.”, she said, not bothering to turn around. “Since you are here, you can take the feet and help me to carry Hawke to Varric’s suite. He can sleep there”  
“Mother?” Varric repeated, looking behind Iveani. “The Witch of the Wilds is your mother?”  
“Don’t you see the family resemblance?” Flemeth queried as she did as she was told to.  
“Well, she’s an elf… And you are not.”  
“Really? I hadn’t noticed. Maybe my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.” Flemeth sighed theatrically.  
“Mother. Stop playing with durgen’len and focus.” Iveani snapped. Hawke was damned heavy, far heavier than he looked like.   
“You are a spoilsport.” Flemeth told her as they started dragging Hawke towards Varric’s suite.  
“And whose fault is that?” Iveani quipped. “I was traumatized at early age. You gave me a ball which ate people.”  
“Playing dirty? Holding grudges?” Flemeth’s golden eyes sparkled. “That’s my girl.”  
Varric looked at the exchange, and he slowly shook his head. Families were strange.

\--

 

Flemeth followed Iveani home, and was greatly amused by frothy blanket. She wandered from room to room in the  estate, commenting the items and the interior decoration. Iveani was starting to feel a bit annoyed, even though none of the things were hers, and she was not the one who had chosen the blinds Flemeth dubbed quaint.  
“Mother. Did you really come here to discuss grizzly statues Hawke insists keeping in the hallway?” Iveani finally asked. She was tired. Staying up whole night, drinking first two pints of cider in her life and recovering from miscarriage had sapped her strength.   
“Of course.” Flemeth said. “It's only natural a mother would want to see how her daughter is treated by son-in-law."  
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I haven't forgiven you about leaving me to Tarasyl'an Tel'as for Fen'Harel.", Iveani warned.  
"This is my night off. I'm not going to discuss work with you.", Flemeth noted as she clicked her tongue at ugly painting of Hawke's grandmother. "Seeing this every day can drive a man to drink."  
"And your paintings are so much better?", Iveani arched her eyebrows.  
"I used to live in a hut in a swamp.", Flemeth remarked. "My standards of living have dropped somewhat.”  
“Are you hiding from Fen’Harel, too?” Iveani asked curiously. “He doesn’t know you aren’t dead.”  
“I am dead.” Flemeth disagreed. “This is merely a tiny fragment of the whole. What remains of me is in there.”  
She nodded towards the ball on Iveani’s lap.   
“It was true, then? I remember sun shining through you. I thought you had come to give me a present.” Iveani said, the memory stirring feelings she didn’t want to remember. “When you vanished, I got frightened and swirly ones caught me.”  
“Your birthday party didn’t go quite as I had planned.” Flemeth noted sarcastically. “The paint didn’t dry in time, your father was early and my wolf had left a surprise in my bedchamber. At least Fen’Harel’s surprise was a success. In a way. Elgar’nan was very surprised when he found it.”  
Taking a deck of cards from side table, Flemeth started shuffling them.   
“Cut the deck, da’len.”  
“What are we playing?” Iveani asked.  
“Dead man’s tricks.” Flemeth replied. “It’s my favourite game.”  


\--

 

Hawke had no idea how long he had slept, but his whole body felt sluggish and heavy. Too long, probably. But the woman in his arms was warm and soft. Hawke didn’t remember much of last night, except ale, stout, mead and two shots of whiskey before ordering the dwarven brew bartender kept in a special metal container because it was easily flammable. His head was throbbing, and the faint light coming through his eyelids hurt. It was best not to open his eyes.   
“I’m sorry, Iv.” he muttered against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “I didn’t mean this to happen.”  
She turned around, seeking his lips. Hawke was taken by surprise, because he did not expect his wife to find a shemlen with hangover that attractive. But on the other hand, he was at least as handsome as Dread Wolf _and_ far nicer. Except… something was wrong. Kissing was one thing, but he couldn’t imagine Iveani going straight for his belt and pulling it off. Hawke opened his eyes and almost bit the uninvited tongue in his mouth when he found himself staring into familiar brown eyes.   
“Isabela?” Hawke pulled himself away, looking around to figure out where he was. Damnit. Varric’s suite in Hanged Man.   
“Apologies, Hawke? I should have sailed back much sooner.” Isabela laughed, waving the belt she had stolen. “I thought I might find you here, but I didn’t except so warm welcome.”  
“What time is it? Morning? Midday?” Hawke asked, hurriedly rolling off the bed. The waistband of his trousers was too loose, and he had to hold it up with a hand...  
“Evening. You slept the whole day.” Varric said behind his back. He had appeared at doorway with a mug of black coffee.  
The dwarf was looking at Hawke with judgemental expression. Hawke was going to ask what was bugging Varric before he realized what it looked like. Isabela had no pants, as usual, her boobs were almost spilling from the low-cut shirt and Hawke was holding up his trousers. Isabela dangling his belt didn’t help.   
“Give back my belt.” he commanded Isabela.   
“It’s one thing if you pass out and your wife and mother-in-law drag you to my bed to sleep it off.”, Varric said, sipping his coffee. “But I draw a line at this. She is my friend, too.”  
“My belt.” Hawke snapped, lunging for his belt.  
Isabela gave it up without a brawl. She looked surprised, and for a second, there was something wounded and unhappy in her expression.   
“You have a mother-in-law?” Isabela asked. “And here I thought you would wait for me.”  
“We broke up, remember? You said you didn’t want to be tied down by love.” Hawke reminded her, pushing the belt through loops.  
“Who’s the lucky girl, then? One of the Hightown noble horrors? Babbette de Launcet?”  
“Maker, no.”, Hawke shivered.   
“Iveani is one of Flemeth’s daughters.” Varric supplied.   
“The old hag who comes here on Thursdays to play cards? The one who threatens to turn me into toad and eat my firstborn when I win?” Isabela asked. “You married a Witch of Wilds to start a family and have babies? Maker, Hawke. Couldn’t you find anyone else? Babbette de Launcet would have been far wiser pick.”

 

When Hawke finally got home and slowly climbed up the stairs to second floor, he saw eerie glow coming from library. Iveani sat there, curled in armchair. The golden ball in her hands was glowing soft blue light. Iveani was enchanted, and her eyes were focused on the ball, not seeing anything else. Hawke was sure she had not heard him open the door. She was listening something he could not hear.   
“Hello.”, he greeted her in loud voice.   
“Garrett.”, Iveani blinked, and the enchantment broke. “How long it has been?”  
“Full day.” Hawke said, sitting down on opposite chair. “I’m sorry, Iv. I didn’t mean it to happen like this.”  
“I know.” she said simply. There was no blame on her face or in her voice, not like Varric’s.   
“I don’t know if I can handle this. I thought that I could keep myself in check, and it would be nice to see friends in Hanged Man, like old times. But it was too much like old times, and now I’m feeling like an idiot.” Hawke admitted, feeling rotten. “I want to do things differently, but then I start to slip. And I know I will regret it later, but I can’t seem to find willpower to keep going.”  
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”, Iveani replied. “I know what you are talking about.”  
She hugged her knees, looking vulnerable, and added:   
“It’s what I think of Fen’Harel. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s so much easier just to give in. There are good moments, and I’m afraid. I don’t know what my life would be like without him. I don’t know if I can survive on my own. Things could be far, far worse than now.”   
Hawke slumped deeper in his chair, thinking what to say.   
“I could try to end it. If you try, too.” Iveani said suddenly. “We could help each other.”   
“Are you serious?” he asked, not believing his own ears.   
“You were the one who said it, in Haven. Two against one are better odds.” she offered.   
Hawke smiled, feeling warmth spreading inside his heart.   
“It’s a deal.”


	24. Tragedy or blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finds out that elves see love very differently than humans do.

"We must use this. Kirkwall relies on trade. After what happened to the Chantry, we are still trying to convince ships to stop here. We need that money for rebuilding.” seneschal Bran said.   
Hawke wasn’t convinced. He glared at the cream-colored parchment on the table like it was a snake.   
“I have to ask about it from Iveani. I doubt Empress of mighty Orlais is interested in meeting Viscount of Kirkwall. Her court just wants to stare at Iv.”  
“Hawke, with all respect, being stared at is a small price to pay for prosperity of Kirkwall. Your wife is reasonable woman, and she will do what you ask.” Aveline sighed.  
“Yes, but the Winter Palace is built on the bones of her people. It’s not exactly the best place for a honeymoon.” Hawke frowned.   
Behind his back, seneschal and Aveline exchanged glances.   
“On the other hand, she might like a chance of scenery. Iv says that Fade around Kirkwall isn’t a nice place to roam because demons coming through the Bone Pit rift give her headache.”  
“You should write about that rift to Inquisitor. If she demands men for Inquisition, we should get something tangible, too.” Aveline pointed out. “I would prefer my guardsmen protecting the city instead of searching for elven ruins. It’s hard to see logic in that.”  
“We need the guardsmen in here, that’s true. And Iveani says that sending our people to search elven ruins is not reasonable. “, Hawke said absently.   
“Can’t you utter a single sentence without referring to your wife?” Aveline asked. “Maker, you have it bad, Hawke. Never thought I would see you harbouring a crush like a recruit.”  
Hawke opened his mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come out.   
“I told you so.”, Aveline said. She looked evilly pleased. “I’ve waited years to pay you back for everything you did when I was trying to court Donnic.”  
Hawke barely heard. Andraste’s tits, it was true. He was in love.

He hurried home, climbing the stairs to second floor with two or three steps at time. Forgetting to knock on the door, he entered their bedroom on the second floor.  
Iveani was still in bed, supported by pillows as she held the golden ball cupped in her hands. The sphere was glowing faintly, reflecting blue light on her face. She looked up and smiled when she heard his footsteps. The ball stopped glowing, and she put it away.   
“I was wondering if Aveline had thrown you into a prison.” Iveani said. “Or are you on the run from law?”  
“She told me I’m in love. It’s true.” Hawke blurted out.  
Her reaction was not what he expected.   
“Oh, ara’isha.” she said, looking compassionate. “I’m so sorry. Love is a terrible thing.”  
“What?” Hawke stared at her.  
“The elvhen say that you don’t choose your heart. It just beats inside your chest, even if you hate it.”, Iveani told him seriously. “You die without it, yet there is nothing you can do to stop agony and despair it brings.”  
“That... That is not how I understand the feeling.” Hawke said uneasily.  
“But it is true. My mother fell in love with Fen’Harel, yet her heart beat inside my father’s chest. Father flew in rage and despair, killing my mother, and Fen’Harel’s soul died without his heart. ”, Iveani stated. “That is what love brings in its wake. It is a force of destruction strong enough to devastate even the strongest kingdoms. You would have been far better off to avoid love’s talons sinking in your flesh.”  
“No, no, no.”, Hawke shook his head. This discussion was not going at all the way he wanted. “Love is good. It’s like sunshine, laughter, fluffy clouds and...puppies.”  
Iveani looked at him like he had suddenly grown two heads.   
“Fluffy clouds and puppies?” she repeated in disbelief.   
“My heart is full of them when I look at you.” Hawke told her. “I’m in love with you.”  
He had never seen a woman turn so pale. Or frightened.   
“Oh, no, Garrett.” Iveani shook her head, dropped the ball on the bed and rushed to Hawke. She held him tightly, clinging to him with desperation. “You have stop it right now. Fen’Harel will _kill_ you for this. You have to tell him you lied. And I have to leave. I have to leave right now, before it gets worse. I’m terribly sorry, Garrett. I never wanted to curse you with love.”  
Hawke was baffled. His wife was almost crying in panic. It was not a reaction one expected after love confession.   
“You are leaving?” he asked in thick voice.   
“I have to.” Iveani said, looking at him. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. “You helped me when I needed it most. You are brave and fair and just and handsome and... I’ve been so happy with you. I _can’t_ repay you with death.”  
Brave and handsome and... Wait a minute. Hawke knew this was not a moment to retreat. She loved him.   
“You said the same thing about me dying when I married you, and I’m still here.” Hawke wasn’t going to give up so easily.   
“Yes, but—“  
“I saw you break off a top of a mountain. I’m certain that you are more than capable to kick his ass if he tries to kill me.”, Hawke cooed, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You strangle him with Veil, and I’ll clap my hands and cheer from the side. Think of it, love. Fifty years enjoying my charming personality and spectacular bath shows. No talons or agony, just fluffy clouds.”   
Iveani didn’t flinch away, but just stood there, staring at him. Encouraged, he kissed her properly, and was met by unexpected, fierce passion which made his knees go soft. Oh, Maker, he thought as his wife pushed her hands in his hair and kissed him like he was going to die.   
“I _knew_ you did it on purpose.” Iveani said accusingly. “There was no need to bathe in bedroom.”   
Hawke grinned.   
“You liked it. Admit it.”  
“I didn’t.”  
“The tips of your ears turned pink. I saw. I would have burst into song if I knew any songs which weren’t filthy.” Hawke said with contentment. “I love you, Iveani. And nothing you say can make me change my mind about it. Love is a good thing.”  
“You are a madman.” Iveani shook her head. “I hope your Maker will protect you.”  
He tasted salt on her lips when she kissed him again, but Hawke didn’t care, because he was the happiest man in Thedas.


	25. Halamshiral, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All roads lead to Winter Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took few days to banish Trespasser feels from my head, and now we return to regular update schedule.

The Inquisitor had chosen Cassandra and Vivienne to accompany her in Halamshiral. Fen’Harel could applaud the shrewdness of her choices: Cassandra was a member of nobility, no matter how much she detested her title, while Vivienne was well known player in the court. Fen’Harel, of course, would have been even better asset for Inquisition, but he had no interest to listen some Orlesian noble express his disappointment because elves didn’t smell like strawberries after all.  
“Are you certain you won’t accompany us, Fen’Harel?”, Josephine asked. “There is one invitation still remaining, and it would be a shame not to use it to our advantage.”  
“You mean that Blackwall would only mutter about nobility not caring about common soldier, Sera would ruin the party, people would refuse to talk to Dorian and Iron Bull might try to flex his muscles for the empress.”, Fen’Harel said dryly.   
“I fear your statement might be true.”, the ambassador admitted. “And it is rather late to teach you the basics of the Game.”  
Fen’Harel snorted, but didn’t fall into ambassador’s trap. Ever since the Redcliffe accident, the Inquisitor’s advisors had acted a bit strange around him. Dorian had let it slip that Alexius had believed Fen’Harel was ancient elvhen god, and the rumour had spread like wildfire. The more scholarly members of Inquisition had managed to dig out the names of elvhen pantheon with ease, but nobody had yet gathered courage to actually ask. So far, they had kept dancing around the issue. Cassandra didn’t want to ask, since the possibility of affirmative answer would ruin the world as she knew it, Leliana wanted to find the answer by more reliable means, and Josephine tried to make queries about his life experiences diplomatically.  
“I got a letter from Comtesse d’Argent which might interest you. She mentioned that Empress Celene has invited Viscount of Kirkwall and his wife to Halamshiral ball. They are staying at Duchess Nicole de Val Montagne’s estate. The Duchess considerers herself a patron of historical landmarks, especially those in the Dales.”, Josephine placed her next bait and dangled it in front of Fen’Harel’s nose.  
“I see your point.”, Fen’Harel glared at ambassador. “Get me a uniform.”

He had to admit he was intrigued as he watched Orlais pass by from coach window. It had been some time, almost two months, since he had last heard about Iveani. Actually, Fen’Harel’s last meeting had been rudely interrupted by his vhenan vanishing from the Fade the moment he reached for her. Five nights in a row and then, nothing. He had tried to look for Iveani after that, but he couldn’t find her dreams from the Fade. It was like something was blocking him, obscuring her from his vision.   
Even though he didn’t know how the man could possibly accomplish such a feat, Fen’Harel blamed that suicidal shemlen who had dared to challenge Dread Wolf himself. Hawke had made his intentions very clear, and Fen’Harel had never appreciated fools with a death wish. It was only prudent to check on his heart and his heir, and Fen’Harel was curious to see how the latter had changed her during these months.

\--

“I think I’m drunk.”, Iveani told Hawke as they returned from dancing floor.   
“From a single glass of champagne?”, Hawke asked with a fondly mocking smile. “Surely not.”  
“But I’m feeling giddy.”, she resisted. “And light. Like laughing. It’s most unlike me.”  
“Do you see the room swaying?”  
“No. Except when you whirled me around.”, Iveani admitted, still a bit breathless. “I think I like dancing.”  
“Then you are just happy.”, Hawke decided, offering his hand. “More dancing?”  
“Yes.”, she accepted, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

  
“Shouldn’t we be talking with the Orlesian nobles? Ask about peace negotiations?”, Iveani asked as they waltzed across the room.  
“No.”, Hawke shook his head. “We brought Varric along to chat their ears off, remember? Council of Heralds adores his books, and are willing to do anything for an autograph. Besides, I’m far too busy with matters of state to spend time chatting with Orlesians .”  
“Matters of state?”, Iveani frowned lightly.  
“Yes.”, he smiled, his brown eyes warm. “I’m very busy courting you. Dancing. Compliments. Maybe even a stolen kiss or two in a dark corner if I’m lucky. My mother told me everything there is to know about courting traditions of nobility when I reclaimed the Amell estate. Sometimes I even listened. ”  
“Why a dark corner?”, Iveani asked. She still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t drunk. She felt unreasonably pleased with the soft whisper of her skirts against the floor, and the feeling of Garrett’s hand resting against the small of her back. His touch was warm, and familiar, and he was so much more handsome than she had thought when they first met. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like. Would it be different than with Fen’Harel?   
“It’s because we’re married. Apparently it’s all right to kiss someone else’s wife, but not your own in public. They think it’s scandalous. Orlesians.”  
“My mother said you are nicely built for a shemlen man. I think she’s got her eye on you.”, she told Garrett, just to see his reaction.  
His steps got mixed up, and Hawke bumped against some Orlesian lady who glared daggers at him. Iveani’s lips curved into a smile, and she started to giggle.   
“I might never recover from that.”, he scolded her as they pulled away from the dancing floor. “Do you know how many educational horror stories they told about Witch of the Wilds in Lothering? It was said that your mother lured men into swamps to sire daughters, and then killed them afterwards.”  
Iveani considered it.  
“It’s likely to be true.”, she decided. “Mother has serious issues with male gender as whole.”  
“Maker.”, Hawke groaned. “I bet she expects to come over for a dinner on feast days.”  
“Don’t worry, Garrett.”, Iveani said. “I won’t let her to steal you.”  
She stood on her toes, and put her arms around his neck. Iveani wasn’t entirely sure if it was the champagne which made her heart to beat a little faster, but Hawke smiled, and his eyes were soft with that emotion he foolishly insisted calling love. Banishing the thoughts of love, she hugged him, closing her eyes to better enjoy the sensation of resting her head against his shoulder. The fluttery feeling in her stomach was just excitement from being in a new place. She felt strangely shy, even though there was no reason to.   
Then someone spoke behind her.  
“A word.”, Fen’Harel said coolly.


	26. Halamshiral, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iveani tells Fen'Harel the new terms and conditions of their relationship.

“Are you certain you don’t need me?” Hawke asked in low voice.   
“It’s fine, Garrett.” Iveani said. “Truly.”  
Actually, it was fine. The orb was carefully hidden under her clothes, and the warm glow against her bare skin made her feel safe, cherished. In her mind, she cradled her hidden secret like a child, and it made her feel calm. There was nothing Fen’Harel could do to her, no matter how angry he got. She was safe.   
“Try not to get captured by Orlesian nobles. Varric said there is a dowager on the hunt.” she smiled at Hawke before starting to walk towards the closest balcony. It would likely be empty at the moment, because all guests were gathering into ballroom to hear the Empress’ opening words for tonight.

She could feel Fen’Harel’s gaze looking at her waistline as she climbed up the steps, and for a moment, Iveani was sad. It was not good news she had to tell him. She wished it would have gone differently. With the orb, she could have kept her baby safe in Kirkwall. The orb would have changed everything. No pantheon or war with Tevinter. Just her and Garrett and a lovely baby with tiny sharp ears sleeping in the dragon crib. A girl, maybe. Mother would have liked a girl. They could have invite Flemeth over for a dinner, and mother would have amused herself by playing cat and mouse with Garrett, who seemed to harbour quite amusing, superstitious fear towards Witch of the Wilds. It would have been nothing like Iveani’s own childhood in that small room, and closest to what she had wanted when Wisdom told her stories of the world outside her prison. Families were something she knew only from stolen memories. Hers could have been almost real on both sides of a Veil.  
But the word was ‘could have’. It was not going to happen.

 

They leaned against the railing, looking down at the garden. The shemlen nobles walked there, their stupid masks glittering in the light created by enchanted lanterns. Iveani reached with her magic tentatively, and let out a relieved breath she hadn’t noticed of holding when Fen’Harel’s aura melted with hers. It had been too long since she had been in the presence of someone real. Walking alone among the shemlen was like being the only person who could see colours instead black and white. Even though Iveani was ready to admit they had many admirable qualities – at least Garrett had - , it wasn’t the same thing.   
“The child didn’t make it. There was nothing I could do.”, Iveani said quietly in their language.   
“I thought it might be the case.” Fen’Harel replied. He was quiet, and she could sense the resigned frustration filling his mind.   
“Why it is so?” she asked. “The records of old speak of thousands upon thousands of elves. If it always was this hard, how there could be so many?”  
“It’s the Veil.” Fen’Harel replied. “It cut away the People’s connection to Fade, diminishing them. I thought that maybe your blood and mine would be strong enough regardless, but apparently it isn’t so.”  
Iveani thought of Mythal and Elgar’nan, and three children they had lost. It could be the Veil, it could be something she had inherited from her mother, but she could not ask Fen’Harel without telling how she knew it.   
“Will it always be so?” she asked instead. “Will we truly be the last of the People?”  
“Unless I release your kin, yes. And it is never going to happen. They deserve all this. ”, Fen’Harel said calmly.   
“How can you know you are right? Is your hunger for revenge truly so much more important than your own People?” Iveani asked sharply. She was hurt, and felt Fen’Harel didn’t care enough. She had just told him their baby had died. Garrett had cried for child who hadn’t been even his. And now the father just noted that he had expected this to happen.   
“You presume much and know only a little, as always.” Fen’Harel replied.   
“If I know too little, it’s your fault.” Iveani said, straightening herself. “I won’t play along with your games anymore, Fen’Harel. If you want my cooperation to your plans, whatever they are, or even my companionship, you have to give me information I want and treat me with respect.”  
“Interesting. What makes you think you can demand that?” Fen’Harel asked softly.  
“I could help you to get what you want. But I won’t, as long as you insist holding power over me. My mother wasn’t your thrall, and I’m not going to be, either. You will either have me as your equal, or you can wrap your revenge around you and hope it will be enough for the rest of your life.” Iveani told him.   
Her eyes were hard, and for a moment, Fen’Harel thought she reminded him of someone. But whether the memory was Mythal’s judgement, or one of several occasions he had fought Elgar’nan with words, he could not say.   
“You have changed.” Fen’Harel said slowly, sensing only confidence through their bond. “This is not like you. Something has happened to change you.”  
“Nothing has changed.” Iveani replied. “This is what I was meant to be.”

She collected her skirts, and left the balcony before he could ask any more questions. Fen’Harel watched as she joined Hawke near the doorway, smiling lightly and exchanging a few words. Something had changed, no matter what she said, and he was going find out what it was.  



	27. Encounters with Orlesian nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Iveani are invited to breakfast with Orlesian nobility. Fen'Harel's trap springs.

As the Viscount of Kirkwall, Hawke had been invited for private breakfast with Empress Celene and forty-three high-ranking nobles, including the Inquisitor. Iveani found the sheer duplicity of Orlesian culture fascinating; the ‘private’ breakfast had almost two hundred people and the number did not include servants.   
“How wonderful to see you here. My, my, how quickly you have risen in the world!” a man wearing plumed hat and golden mask came to greet Hawke. Hawke’s jaw tensed, and he looked guarded. Iveani didn’t recognize the Orlesian, so she said nothing. She suspected she had been invited as an exotic oddity, and nobody expected her to actually speak.   
“And this must be your lovely wife. Lady Ivani.”, the noble said, suddenly reaching towards her. Iveani flinched, taking a step backwards, and the man ended up smooching just air.   
“Iveani.”, Hawke corrected, slipping his arm around Iveani’s waist and pulling her closer. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”  
“Oh, I thought you would remember me. After all, you enjoyed my late father’s hospitality at Chateau Haine.”, the man in the mask said. “I’m Duke Cyril de Montfort, member in the Council of Heralds. I have wanted to speak with you for some time, Viscount. You were there when my father died, were you not?”  
“I’m afraid Prosper didn’t have time for last words before he rode over the edge of a cliff, on his pet wyvern.” Hawke said bluntly.  
Iveani looked at him, then back at the Duke. This sounded just odd.   
“Is it common for humans to keep wyverns as pets?” she asked.   
“Not at all.” the Duke chuckled. “Like my father said, hunting a wyvern is a terrible risk, but the prize… Isn’t it true to all things? We value only what we must fight for. Easy victories are so mundane.”  
He gestured at servant, who came carrying a tray. Iveani’s eyes widened when she noticed woman’s ears. Someone had cut off a part of servant’s ear, moulding the remaining flesh into triangle shape. It must have been done when she was still a child, because the scarring was old and almost invisible. The tip of her ears was covered by little golden cap.   
“What has happened to you?” Iveani asked. “Who mutilated your ears like that?”  
The servant startled, and a defiant, almost angry look rose to her face.   
“I don’t understand what you mean, my lady. I’m one of personal servants of the Empress, and I assure you, nothing so crass has ever happened to me.”, the servant said before she turned away, carrying her tray of glasses to another little group.   
“It has been talk in the court whether your ears are real, or have you just gone through more radical operations than most poor children attempting to find a good position in life. It is said that mages of Tevinter can make a very good likeness of an elf with blood magic, except for the eyes.” Duke Cyril noted. “Your eyes truly are extraordinary. Very elf-like.”  
“You encourage the children of poor people to cut their ears so they’d look more like elvhen to you? You gather into small groups to play ‘noble wanderers’ in wilderness, and when the rain starts or wine runs out, or you get bored with fucking mutilated servants in Mythal’s name—“, Iveani was angry, now.  
“The pointed ears are wonderful in that way, aren’t they? You can make an elf scream your name in throes of passion by just licking the tips.” Duke Cyril mentioned with smugness of person who believed he had special knowledge.  
“What’s the fascination with ears? Fenedhis lasa, they’re just ears, there is nothing special about them.” Iveani snapped, frustrated. “It’s no different than if you asked someone to lick your kneecaps.”  
“Kneecaps... Mm. Kneecaps.”, Duke Cyril said with dreamy look in his eyes.  
Hawke pulled Iveani to other direction before she killed the Duke.

“I wanted to have a word with you before others do.”, Marquise Mantillon said, smiling like she wanted something as she quietly slipped a small, sealed envelope to Hawke’s hand. “Our holdings are not unsubstantial, and my little Cyril is well-formed, healthy boy of two years. An heir, naturally. He doesn’t need to have a wife of great fortune, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the dowry. Elf-blooded, noble-born bride would be an asset in the Game.”  
“We don’t have children.” Hawke replied, looking baffled.   
“Oh, I heard you had a minor setback, but you both are young and healthy-looking.”, the Marquise smiled commercially. “Sometimes a change of scenery is all you need, and eating ripe pomegranates does wonders to man’s stamina. It helps with sluggish seed, as well. I will have my butler send you a basket.”  
Iveani bit the inside of her cheek not to start giggling, when Hawke’s face started to change in very interesting shade of purple.   
“I’m sure you will have many offers for your future offspring.” Marquise Mantillon continued. “I’m merely asking you to consider ours first.”  
“If we ever have children, we’ll surely talk about your suggestion. But now you must excuse us, we promised to have a word with another friend before leaving to Kirkwall.” Iveani said, taking Garrett’s hand.  
“Remember! At least two pomegranates daily!” the Marquise called before they vanished in the crowd.

 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to cut this journey short and leave home as soon as this farce is over.” Hawke whispered to Iveani as the guests took their places around small, white-clothed tables. Theirs had six chairs.   
“Yes!” she whispered back. “This is terrible.”  
Hawke squeezed her hand under the tablecloth, looking relieved.   
“I’ll tell Donnic to prepare the horses.”  
They fell silent when a well-dressed woman with golden eyes took a seat on Hawke’s left side. Her expression was haughty and arrogant, not inviting discussion. As far as Iveani was concerned, it was a good thing. Undoubtedly the lady would have said something disturbing. Besides, they were going to leave as soon as this was over, so it made sense to focus on eating.  


She was just considering what to try, when Fen’Harel sat on her right side.   
“I would advise against the ham. It is Orlesian speciality. It tastes like despair.” he said politely.  
In his wake, the last two remaining chairs were taken by Sister Leliana and a masked woman whom Iveani thought she had seen in the ball last night. Lady Colombe, one of Celene’s handmaidens.   
“The empress is most grateful for Inquisition’s help last night.” lady Colombe began after the little crystal bell had been chimed to mark the beginning of feast.   
“We were pleased to offer our assistance in stopping Corypheus’ plans.” Leliana said smoothly.   
Iveani felt a feathery touch of magic brushing against her ankle. Fen’Harel looked perfectly innocent.   
“Yes. But the Empress does not wish to forget her friends. She is determined to help your efforts with best she can offer. Celene has assigned lady Morrigan, her arcane advisor, to the Inquisition.” lady Colombe chirped sweetly.   
The magic climbed higher, making little swirls on Iveani’s skin.   
“I have been informed of this, and I look forward to working with the Inquisition.” the golden-eyed woman, apparently lady Morrigan, replied with a small nod.   
“I’m sure you will.” Leliana said. “I will watch you closely.”  
“That brings us to another matter.” the handmaiden continued. “Viscount Hawke.”  
“Yes?” Hawke looked up from his plate.  
“The empress has not forgotten the incident at Chateau Haine. Also, she has heard who was responsible of monster Corypheus getting free from Warden prison in Vimmark Mountains.”, the words coming out from lady Colombe’s sweet mouth were sinister. “Empress Celene strongly recommends that you will lend your aid and your sword arm to Inquisition personally, Viscount. Spreading the truth about Corypheus’ escape could shatter Kirkwall, weakened as it is. We are, however, willing to hold our silence as long as there is a visible attempt to undo the damage done.”  
The tendrils of magic slipped on Iveani’s inner thigh, caressing the spot where her leg joined her torso. Keeping her expression neutral, she dropped her fork on the floor. As she picked it up, she brushed a spell on the prongs to make them sharper, and calmly stabbed Fen’Harel on thigh. He jumped a bit when the prongs sunk into his flesh, but hid his grimace behind a handkerchief.   
“I don’t think I can stomach another bite. Would you please excuse me?” Iveani asked politely. She didn’t stay to wait for an answer before standing up and leaving the room.   
“I’m sure the Inquisition can find you things to do, Viscount Hawke.”, Fen’Harel said politely. He rather enjoyed seeing the frozen fury on Viscount’s face.   
“Does it smell like blood in here?” Leliana frowned. “The servants haven’t cleaned up properly.”  
“Might be.” Fen’Harel allowed, trying to pull out the fork discreetly. Really. Sometimes his vhenan was just disappointing. If stabbing him with a fork was best she could do, he had raised her wrong. Fen’Harel thought that Iveani was smarter than this.   
“Since you have made it clear I don’t have another choice, I have to accompany you to Skyhold. But I need a day or two to arrange Viscountess’ return to Kirkwall.” Hawke said, pouring himself a glass of wine.  
“We thought she would be accompanying you.” Leliana said.  
“Of course she won’t. Like lady Colombe so clearly said, the Inquisition only requires me personally, and I can’t leave Kirkwall without a ruler.” Hawke said firmly, looking at Fen’Harel in the eye. “My wife much prefers Kirkwall to frozen mountains. And that is her choice nobody will take away.”


	28. Ar masala revas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus gets to be blamed for Fen'Harel's misdeeds for second time in a day, and Iveani steals Fen'Harel's second-favorite toy.

When Iveani stormed out from the room to get some fresh air, she noticed she wasn’t the only one who had escaped the feast. The Inquisitor was sitting on a bench, her face twisted with a grimace. Renaste cradled her marked arm, looking pained. Commander Cullen stood by her, looking worried.   
“Should I get Fen’Harel?” he asked in low voice.   
“No!” Renaste’s reply was immediate. “You must not tell him.”  
“I could help.” Iveani said, coming tentatively closer.  
Renaste looked at her and then nodded.   
“All right.” she said, her voice strained. “Cullen, could you please watch the door? I don’t want the Chantry coming to scream here about apostate magic.”  
“Of course.” Cullen nodded unhappily and retreated a bit.

As soon as Iveani took Renaste’s arm, she saw what was wrong.   
“Does this hurt?” Iveani asked, gently trailing her fingers along the green veins on Renaste’s swollen arm.  
“Yes.” the Inquisitor replied. “Every time I close a rift, it stings. And sometimes… I think I’m going mad.”  
Her young and innocent features were frightened as she whispered to Iveani:   
“I do things even though I don’t know why. Things I don’t want to. I never meant to ask the Empress to conscript Hawke to Inquisition. Or to save her. I wanted Gaspard for the throne.”  
“Have you talked about this to anyone?” Iveani asked quietly.  
“No! They would think I’m insane. Or possessed. I have brothers in the templars. I know what happens to possessed people, and I’m not even a mage. Fen’Harel says nothing is wrong, and I’m just stressed out, but I know it isn’t true.”

Iveani had never seen the pattern of veins on Renaste’s hand, but she knew the spell. It was a form of blood writing to mark and control a servant, less visible and easier to hide than vallaslin on one’s face. Being bound was one of things her parents had wanted to ward against, and Iveani had seen the way to undo the spell when she had read the veilfire runes cast by her orb.  
To her, it was clear that Fen’Harel had bound Renaste. When, she didn’t know, but she had suspicions. Iveani had warned Renaste that Fen’Harel would not be grateful for being rescued from Redcliffe. Fen’Harel had avenged himself on Iveani, but she had been too delirious to pay attention on whether Renaste had managed to avoid the wrath of his injured pride. Did the Inquisitor knew? Or, more specifically, what it would cause if Iveani told her the truth? She didn’t want to be hunted down with pitchforks and torches for being an elf and associate of Fen’Harel. Telling Renaste would not serve anything at this point. She needed to know the Inquisitor better before deciding on the right course of action.

“Look at the veins here.” Iveani said instead, pointing at Renaste’s swollen arm. “They are completely different than the ones on your right arm. I believe that the mark on your hand might have changed them, driving the power of the mark deeper into your hand. It’s seeping inward from there, and causing you pain.”  
“It’s like a flowery rune. A bit like vallaslin.” Renaste said. She wasn’t a fool. Iveani remembered her lecture about elvish culture.   
“Indeed.”, Iveani nodded. “But these are veins, filled with your blood. Blood magic is a way to exercise control over one another, and I understand it is still used for that purpose in Tevinter. It could be a possible explanation for things you told me about.”  
“Corypheus!” Renaste cursed. “I remember seeing this when I woke up after Haven’s destruction. Who knows what kind of foul spells ancient darkspawn magister could cast. And he did try to remove the anchor.”  
Her soft features hardened, and Iveani saw a glimpse of woman the Inquisitor could have grown up to be, if the mark wouldn’t take her life in few years. Iveani knew that Renaste had no hope of surviving the anchor. Fen’Harel’s magic was too potent to be ever safely wielded by anyone except him, much less a mortal shemlen. Her own orb was attuned to her in the same way. It could be stolen, and used for a time, but in the end, it would turn against the one wielding it.   
Iveani felt pity for the girl and said kindly:   
“Before I came to Haven, I learned the magic of _I've'an'virelan,_ Fade walking, but also _Ladarelan'elgar._ It means healer of spirits. Unbinding them. I could unbind you, if you want.”  
“You could?” Renaste repeated. “How I know I can trust you?”  
“You have to make that decision yourself. What I would do will not change your mind, or your morals in any way. I would simply untangle the veins inside your hand, and let them return to their original pathways. If you like, you can ask Cullen to watch. Actually, it would be excellent if he could use his templar abilities to nullify magic. We don’t want Corypheus to sense his hold on you has been broken.” Iveani said, thinking of Hawke who was still, as far as she knew, in the same room with Fen’Harel.  
“Cullen!” Renaste raised her voice. “We need you, please.”

 

It took fine control to channel enough mana for her spell so it overrode Cullen’s nullification and unbound Fen’Harel’s spell, but not so much that anyone with talent would be alerted. But this field of magic was the most familiar to Iveani after years spent with Wisdom in the Fade. A part of her also felt bitter glee for releasing Fen’Harel’s slave. He had caught them neatly in his trap, but she wasn’t powerless, either.

In a way, Fen’Harel’s Orlesian-delivered threat had made things much simpler. Now Iveani knew he would never see her as his equal. To Fen’Harel, Iveani would always be someone to serve his whims. A sum of her parents, love and hatred in equal measure. Kept near for further use but never let to wander free.   
“A bit longer.” Iveani said to Renaste. “Take Cullen’s hand and squeeze it. You have to keep your hand steady.”  
Renaste did as she was told, biting her lip as Iveani started to move the veins under the Inquisitor’s skin. She worked carefully, not to disrupt the fragile flesh and bones. Renaste held Cullen’s hand with free hand, and the Commander sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.  
“A bit longer, Renaste. You will get through this.” he promised.   
Iveani kept her eyes on her work, but she wasn’t blind to warmth and worry in Commander’s voice. The foolish shemlen and their ideas of love. Puppies, rainbows, happy things. It was sweet, even though misinformed. But why should she rob people of whatever comfort they could find? Maybe love was different for humans, and terrible only for the People.  
The last vein sprang free of Fen’Harel’s twisted spell, and Iveani carefully guided it straight.   
“You should rest.” she told Renaste. “Commander, will you stay with her in case something comes up? She should not be disturbed today.”  
Cullen nodded seriously.   
“He fancies you.”, Iveani whispered to Renaste’s ear before she brushed her skirts, nodded to pair and left, well pleased with the blow she had struck against the Dread Wolf in their shadow war. Renaste Trevelyan could do a lot better than harbour a crush on Fen’Harel. The Commander would be all fluffy puppies with no bite at all.  


 


	29. No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel watches in Skyhold.

“You will never learn how to ride properly if you keep hitching a ride with Hawke.”, Varric scolded Iveani as she extended her hands for Hawke to pull her up in front of him.  
“I know.” Iveani said smugly. “But I like traveling this way much better.”  
“I’m merely grateful she doesn’t demand to be spoiled with jewels.” Hawke told the dwarf as Iveani settled comfortably in the circle of his arms.  
“I never thought I’d see you fall so hard.” Varric shook his head. “Disgusting.”  
“There is nothing disgusting about love that Chantry has blessed, Varric.” the Seeker noted as she passed them, leading her own horse.   
“There you have it, Varric.” Hawke grinned.   
“As long as you don’t think I’ll ride with you when we part ways towards Kirkwall.” Varric said, waggling his finger at Iveani.  
The horn was blown in front of the long line of procession, and the horses started long journey towards east.

Iveani had not lied when she said she liked travelling this way. After her years in the Fade, she enjoyed physical contact, the feeling of being held. She had no interest in horses, and her riding skills were pitiful. Besides, Iveani much preferred sharing a horse when another option was to travel in a coach with Fen’Harel, Dorian and madame de Fer.   
“What did Varric mean about Kirkwall?” she asked, leaning comfortably against Garrett’s chest.   
“The Inquisition didn’t ask for you.” Hawke replied. “I thought you’d be more comfortable somewhere else than at Skyhold. You said you didn’t like it, and they can’t conscript you.”  
“I wouldn’t leave you alone with Fen’Harel.” Iveani said firmly. “That is out of question.”  
“I was worried you might say that, but it’s your decision. And I would miss you, if you left to Kirkwall.”

 

Iveani didn’t like Skyhold. The fortress held too many conflicting memories for her to be happy. The Inquisitor had taken Hawke to War Room as soon as they had arrived, and she was trying to avoid Morrigan who had been introduced to her as a Witch of the Wilds. In any other occasion, Iveani would have been curious to know a woman who was her sister in very complicated way, but now was not a good time. Mother had stressed the importance of letting events flow naturally; otherwise Iveani could ruin a plan centuries in making. She would have felt much better if she knew _what_ Mythal’s plan was and what mother expected her to do, but it would require another win in Dead Man’s Tricks, and Iveani’s skills in the game weren’t that good. Yet. In any case, it was best to keep low profile. Iveani carried their last chance of redemption, the orb, hidden against her heart; she couldn’t afford to let anyone know what had truly happened on Sundermount.

The Inquisitor had given them a room with windows towards the frozen wastes. It was better than facing inner yard; Iveani harboured a childish resentment towards Mythal’s tree and did not want to see it every time she glanced out from the window.

There was a bathroom on the hallway, and the floor was cold under her bare feet when she walked towards it. She liked the mansion more; it was much warmer than Skyhold. The Veil was horrible there, soaked with blood and suffering, but she had not told Garrett about the headaches she got from demons pressing against the Veil. Maybe after this was over, and they would leave for the journey he had promised. Iveani had been reading modern geography and trying to choose what she would like to see. The concept of wandering around was fascinating.   
She bathed and pulled one of Garrett’s spare shirts over her head for a nightgown. The shirt was too big for her, and looked foolish. But it would do for crossing the short distance well enough. It was not like she was going to attend a ball wearing it.

 

Iveani was just returning to their room, when she saw a pair of eyes glinting in the dark corridor. Fen’Harel stepped in the light and said in elvish:   
“You stole Inquisitor from me.”  
“You conscripted Garrett.” Iveani lifted up her chin and glared at Fen’Harel. “Do you really think I would let an insult like that go unchallenged? A blow for blow, ma fen. And there is nothing you can do about it except admit your defeat.”  
Fen’Harel’s eyes narrowed and he asked in smooth voice:   
“Since when you have followed the tradition and rules of shadow duel, vhenan? I thought you were not familiar in the ways the pantheon solved their inner conflicts.”  
“You think a lot of things which aren’t true.” Iveani said, attempting to step pass him, but Fen’Harel grabbed her, pulling Iveani against his body.  
“I know you hide something.” he said, slipping his hand under her shirt to squeeze her bare ass. “You have changed, vhenan, and I’m going to enjoy finding out what and why. How, exactly, you broke a blood binding? How you even recognized the spell, or managed to dispel it without alerting me?”  
“Let me go.” Iveani told him.  
He pushed her against the wall, cupping her breast in his hand.   
“In all these years, I never thought to find myself intrigued by you. I should have let you go sooner.” Fen’Harel said. “Your hate is even better flame to burn myself with than your love, vhenan. Come to me. I shall sheathe my blade within you.”  
“No.”, the refusal escaped Iveani’s lips before she had time to think. She slipped free from Fen’Harel’s hold.  
Fen’Harel was clearly surprised.   
“I said no.”, she told him, crushing the hem of Garrett’s shirt in her fist and finding confidence in it. “I’m not on the mood.”  
She attempted to move past him, but Fen’Harel stopped her again.   
“Has something happened, Iveani?” he asked shrewdly.   
“Nothing has happened. I’m fine. I’m just tired.” she lied.   
“I know your tells. And you are lying.”  
“Tell me, then, if I’m lying now.” Iveani said, raising her chin defiantly: “I don’t want to have sex with you. I’m going to sleep. Without you.”

She pushed past him, and slipped into her room. She closed the thick oak door behind her, and turned the key in a lock, her hands trembling so much that it was hard to fit the key properly. Iveani knew that if he truly was going to come in, a door wouldn’t stop him, locked or not, but it was the principle of it. When the lock clicked, she pressed her back against, breathing rapidly.  
Only then she noticed Hawke had already returned.   
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look... upset.”  
“I just told Fen’Harel to fuck off. Without me.”, she said, the words unreal in her own ears.  
A smile spread on his face, fiercely proud.   
“Well done, Iveani! That’s my lovely wife.” he exclaimed, lifting her up from the floor and whirling her around, grinning.   
“His pick-up line was really bad.” she told Garrett.   
“Of course it was.” Garrett nodded. “When I met him in the Fade, he just growled. No finesse there.”  
“When have you met Fen’Harel?” Iveani stopped, feeling cold all over.  
“It was the night before Sundermount.” Garrett admitted sheepishly. “I told him to leave you alone. And I was going to skewer him with a sword, but then you woke me up.”  
Iveani’s eyes widened.   
“Are you mad, Garrett? I told you—“  
“I know. But I couldn’t just let it be. Like I told you. Two against two.” he said.  
Iveani shook her head.   
“We will speak of this later.” she warned, pulling him towards bed. “But not now.”  
“Is that my shirt you are wearing?” Garrett asked.  
“You can have it back.” Iveani promised and pulled it over her head, throwing the cloth recklessly on the floor. She was naked underneath, her wet hair still dripping.  
Garrett swallowed. His pupils were large and black, and he smelled like a man in desire.   
“Come to bed.” Iveani told him. This time, when she pulled his hand, he followed.

 

He watched her from the Fade. Skyhold had been his, once, and it still followed his commands, allowing him to know every memory imprinted on ancient stones. Fen’Harel saw her carefully lowering herself on shemlen cock, her breath catching momentarily as she tried to adjust to girth not meant for her body. He saw her in her naked glory, breasts fuller than he remembered before the pregnancy. She was almost audacious, not even bothering to try to quiet her moans when she rode the shemlen. Her cunt was making wet noises, and Fen’Harel knew now was the time to slip a finger inside her ass, to put her off balance and make her wiggle in most delicious way. But the shem, a stupid, ignorant brute as he was, of course didn’t know. He let her lead, whispering meaningless words of love and affection when beads of sweat ran down her breasts and her back arched as she cried out.

When he saw his treasure spread on the bed, the shem’s come pooling between her thighs, Fen’Harel knew she had once again forgotten. And when he heard the shem murmuring something in low voice, and saw her smiling at the idiot with affection, Fen’Harel understood what had to be done.


	30. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Iveani discuss their legacy.

It had been two weeks, but Iveani still was not used to how different humans were. There was something delicious and forbidden in the act of wrapping her legs around Garrett to open herself wide for him, and enjoying the almost-hurt of being stuffed full by human cock. Even though it was mildly uncomfortable, it was also madly arousing. His beard scratched against her sensitive skin when he kissed her nipples, making them peak. And his shoulders were just lovely. She ran her nails lightly over his wide back, marvelling how different and sturdy he was compared to Fen’Harel. Iveani threw her head back when another push, rubbing the sweet spot inside her, drew a moan from her lips.   
_“ _Neran ihn bre’palas, ara’isha.__ _”_ she whispered before his lips claimed her for another hungry kiss.   
“What does it mean?”  
“I like it when you fuck me deep, husband.”  
“I will.” Hawke promised with eyes darkened by lust, and Iveani shivered in delicious anticipation.   
Hawke did not disappoint. He slipped arm under her shoulders, and his hand cupped her ass, securing her in place so she would not slip away. And then he started to move in deep, slow strokes. Iveani whimpered as he pulled out slowly, only to push himself back in in one quick movement.   
“I never thought you as cruel, ara’isha.” she complained as he continued his teasing, making her wiggle. She was well stretched by now, her wetness and arousal damping any feelings of discomfort.   
“Taking my time with you is hardly cruel, love.” Hawke replied. “And you are so beautiful when you are flustered.”  
He kissed her neck as he picked up the pace, his lips warm against her skin. Iveani’s muscles tensed, and when he truly started to fuck her, it was almost more she could bear. His cock angled against her nub, making her burn with lust and intolerability of it all. In revenge, she squeezed herself around him, ever tighter, every time he sheathed himself inside her.   
“Garrett.”, she pleaded, her nerves all blazing with intolerable pleasure, when he moved faster and faster, rubbing against her core. “I can’t.”  
Her whole body was trembling, and she barely could keep herself together.   
“For me, Iv.” he cooed in her ear, holding her so gently. “Let go and come for me, Iv. I want to see it.”  
When he suddenly pushed himself deeper than before, so deep that Iveani felt his balls smacking against her cunt, her self-control broke. A broken gasp escaped her lips, and for a moment, she understood nothing but the pulses of pleasure traveling through her body. Garrett kissed her, but all blood had escaped her lips, leaving them icy cold as her body trembled through her release. She fell on the sheets, limp and breathless.   
“Beautiful.”, he said, and did not let her go. In few more strokes, which Iveani barely registered, he grew even larger and attempted to pull out.   
“No.”, Iveani said, wrapping her legs around him again. “I want you to come inside me.”  
He tried to answer but couldn’t. With next push, Hawke cried out and spilled his seed inside her.

“I’m not certain if that was a good idea.” Hawke said a moment later when they laid curled together in the side of the bed which wasn’t damp. “If we go on like this, you’ll get pregnant.”  
“It could happen. Would it be a bad thing?” Iveani asked, drawing lazy circles on his skin.   
“You did go on about humans breeding like rabbits after the miscarriage.”  
“I was upset.” she said. “But I’ve been thinking, Garrett. The People are gone. I don’t know where my family is, and they all are strangers to me. Even so, I would help them if I could, but there is nothing I can do to them now. This is the world I have to live in. Maybe I should just take my happiness where I can find it.”  
“Meaning?” Hawke leaned against his elbow, stroking her hair with his free hand.  
“I’m happy with you. I like you enormously. I still don’t understand your odd idea of love, but maybe it is different for the shemlen, and terrible only for the People. For your sake, I hope it’s true. Why shouldn’t I have babies with you? It wouldn’t require a nasty spell, most likely I wouldn’t be so sick, and the baby might live. I think I would like it. Even mother would like it, if the baby was a girl.”  
Feeling rather taken with the idea, Iveani continued:   
“We could go back to Kirkwall, be happy, and have lots of children. The mansion is big enough for that. They would get all shemlen fluffy things and none of terrible People things. Even Fen’Harel wouldn’t care about them, because he thinks the shemlen aren’t real.”  
“It sounds like a good plan.” Hawke mused, his lips curving into smile. “It would please me to be remembered as the progenitor of witch horde. Garrett Hawke, the man who was responsible for whole generation of Witches of the Wilds. They would wreak havoc all across Thedas, especially in Orlais, and people would curse my name for Ages to come.”  
Iveani laughed, and the sound was bright and happy in his ears.   
“You shouldn’t laugh at my ambitions.” Hawke said, wrestling her under him. “All nobles must take their legacy very seriously. And I’ll have you know that we won’t get our witch horde by just talking about it.”  
“Truly?” Iveani widened her eyes in mock ignorance.  
“Yes.” Hawke nodded. “How do you feel about skipping the breakfast? We can have something sent up later.”  
“I didn’t like the thought of dining with Orlesian nobles anyway.” Iveani agreed.

“It’s almost disgusting to watch.” Varric said fondly as Hawke and Iveani finally showed up for lunch. It was early afternoon, and most people had been up and working for hours. Including Inquisitor’s Inner Circle, who had mostly finished their meal, and the kitchen servants were already collecting the food away.  
Hawke was gesturing at the cook, probably trying to sweet-talk her into giving them something, but his performance was somewhat limited by fact he was holding hands with his wife.   
“It’s not disgusting. I think they’re sweet.” Leliana said, smiling.   
“It is always pleasure to see love blossom between those united by Maker’s blessing.” mother Giselle said serenely.  
Upon hearing mother Giselle’s remark, Fen’Harel swallowed his drink wrong, and started to cough so hard the wine spurted out from his nose instead.  
“That is impossible.” he said after he regained what was left of his dignity. “One-sided infatuation on Hawke’s side, certainly, but there is no way one of my People could ever feel anything towards yours. It would be like...” Fen’Harel paused to find explanation the shemlen could understand, “falling in love with a Tranquil. She would be doomed forever to reach for something which simply is not there.”  
All three turned to glare at him.   
“That’s the most insulting racial slur I’ve heard for a while.” Leliana said, crossing her arms over her chest.  
“It is a simple truth. There are more differences between my people and yours than simply a shape of ears.” Fen’Harel didn’t budge. “Wolves don’t mate with lambs. They eat them.”  
“You are real charmer, aren’t you, Chuckles.” Varric said dryly. The dwarf raised his voice and waved at Hawke. “Come here, you sleepyhead! I’ll fill you in with latest.”

\--

Even though Iveani didn’t want to admit it, she knew that happiness was fleeting. The Inquisition was preparing to march to Adamant Fortress in Western Approach, and Hawke was going to join Loghain and the Inquisitor leading the attack.   
Facing an army of possessed Wardens was something she could not handle. Presence of spirit forced to wrong side of the Veil caused unimaginable pain for a Dreamer, and having dozens of them gathered in one place, especially forced inside a material body, was something Iveani wished never would have existed. On Fen’Harel’s request, both she and Fen’Harel himself had been assigned to support roles away from the main attack, and for once, Iveani did not protest it. She did not like the idea of Hawke going forwards alone, but she had to admit that she would be more a burden than an asset in those particular circumstances, and at least Garrett would be safe from Fen’Harel’s possible machinations. After their last discussion, the elves had been watching each other like hawks, waiting for next move in a duel which was invisible to everybody else.

The next move in their duel came from unexpected source.

One morning, when the Commander had called Hawke and Loghain to his office, Iveani found herself with nothing to do. The Inquisitor and the mages of her Inner Circle were discussing the nature of wardens’ spirit binding, and Iveani did not wish to join them in the War Room. She was not a member of Inquisition, and did not want to support their efforts. To be cruelly honest, she owed her freedom to Corypheus. If the Inquisition succeeded in defeating the magister and Fen’Harel got his orb back, Iveani’s position would weaken considerably. Right now she had upper hand, and she didn’t want to rescind it voluntarily.

She was sitting in the garden she despised, back turned towards Mythal’s tree, when a little shemlen boy came to sit next to her. Iveani had seen him before somewhere, but there were many children in the fortress, and to be honest, most of the shemlen looked same to her. This one was different. There was something sparkling and deep and old which made her look up.   
“Hello.”, the boy said. He was small, pale and serious. “I’m Kieran, and I have a message for you.”  
“Message from who?”  
“Grandmother left it for me, asking me to give it to you. The Wolf watches you too closely for her to approach in dreams.”  
The boy looked solemn, and stated:   
“The cliff is approaching, and you have to decide whether you jump or fall. But you won’t know if you can fly, unless you fall.”  
“Tell mother that... it does not sound good at all. “, Iveani said, feeling cold.  



	31. Adamant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition marches to Adamant Fortress.

Iveani stood in front of the medical tent and watched the tainted dragon flying off. A wounded soldier, who had been brought in moments ago, claimed that an archdemon had collapsed a part of the battlements. Iveani hoped Hawke hadn’t been anywhere near it. She had no word of him after the attack had begun hours ago, and it was making her uneasy. Humans were so easily hurt. She had released dozens of spirits to death this night, and kept two dozen more on this side of the Veil.  
At least the dragon was gone, and the number of wounded coming in was getting less. It was something.  
“Iveani. Here is one for you. A head trauma.” Fen’Harel called her. Not many of Renaste’s conscripted mages were talented in healing, or maybe it was cultural thing. Commander Cullen seemed to regard mages much like siege weapons. He pointed them at target to rain fire and death over someone. Those mages who lacked firepower, were assigned to healers. Even though they could persuade bones knit together, they didn’t know how to weave the strands of spirit together so that the fractured skull didn’t change man’s nature and his way of thinking.  
“Iveani.”, Fen’Harel called again, louder this time.  
Ignoring the worry in her heart, she turned away from the fortress and returned to tent.

She had just finished her work with the head trauma patient when a familiar form appeared at the tent door. Her heart jumped, but her joy turned quickly into fear when she saw that it wasn’t him.  
“Viscountess.”, one of Kirkwall soldiers said, looking at the ground. “Something has happened.”  
“What?” Iveani asked, feeling suddenly very fragile.  
“The Inquisitor and the Viscount, their whole party including messere Varric… They fell into a rift. Commander Cullen sent us to get Fen’Harel. They need a Fade expert.” the soldier said.

 

Iveani felt numb as she stood in a quiet corner of the courtyard. The huge green rift shone in the darkness like a beacon, and a large group of soldiers was keeping a watch around it. There were so many Iveani couldn’t see it properly, much less if anyone got out. Commander had let Fen’Harel pass so he could inspect it closer, but when Iveani had attempted to follow him, the ranks had closed against her. The idiots thought she didn’t know as much as Fen’Harel did. Iveani considered pushing through them regardless, but the Inquisitor was inside, too. Fen’Harel wasn’t able to close the rift without his orb, and Iveani didn’t think he would voluntarily endanger the Inquisitor. He needed her mark too badly to risk it.  
So she just stood there, and waited, fear creeping closer with every breath.

\--

Renaste Trevelyan had never been so relieved to feel the solid stone beneath her feet as when she closed the rift to Nightmare’s realm. She was no mage, and walking in the Fade physically was experience which would haunt her dreams for a long time.  
Trying to calm her frayed nerves, she exchanged a few words with Loghain and then turned to listen Cullen’s report.  
“The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. Those wardens who weren’t corrupted have been aiding us in securing the fortress and fighting off demons and abominations. We hold the—“  
“Where’s Hawke?” Varric interrupted Cullen. The dwarf had been ahead of Renaste and Loghain, leaving through the rift with Vivienne and Cassandra. Renaste felt ill when she saw why Varric had disappeared for a moment. The dwarf had went to get Hawke’s wife. It was like Varric, wanting to tell the good news. Except this time, there weren’t any.  
“Where is Hawke?” Varric asked again. Iveani stood next to him, watching Renaste with dark green eyes.  
Renaste drew a deep breath, trying say it as kindly as she could.  
“Hawke sacrificed his life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus.”  
Varric’s expression changed instantly.  
“Well…” Varric began, but was unable to go on. He turned away and ran into crowd.  
“It was you.” Iveani snarled to Fen’Harel, her face pale with anger. “I don’t know how you did it, but you decided to leave Garrett behind.”  
“Your sorrow is making you to jump conclusions. It was my decision.” Renaste said, feeling miserable. “We need Loghain to lead the Wardens, and Hawke volunteered. It was his choice, and Fen’Harel had nothing to do with it.”  
It was like Iveani hadn’t listened a word she said. The elf was still looking at Fen’Harel, ignoring all the rest of them like they were just air to her.  
“You shouldn’t have done this to Garrett. Now I have to go and get him back, and you will regret this.” Iveani said, shaking her head.  
She pulled something from her jacket. It was a golden ball, which eerily reminded Renaste of something. Only when it started to shine with blue glow, Renaste understood. Iveani had an orb, just like Corypheus’.

“Stop!” Fen’Harel cried out. “Give the foci to me!”  
He lunged forwards, only to hit by an invisible force. Fen’Harel was thrown back against several Inquisition soldiers so hard that Renaste imagined she heard his head cracking.  
An eerie light glowing from the ball bathed Iveani in shades of blue, and Renaste saw the elf’s eyes changing. She could no longer see black pupils, just the blue glow of power. It was like watching an accident about to happen.  
“Inquisitor. You will open a rift for me to step through, or I will bring down this whole fortress, killing every single soul in process.” Iveani said, and her voice chilled Renaste’s blood.  
“No!” Fen’Harel said in dazed voice. He looked concussed, unable to stand up. “No, you can’t, not there!”  
Iveani simply glanced at nearby tower. Without a single gesture or even a word from her, the structure collapsed. The screams of people running away filled the air, only to be overcome by those dying.  
“Inquisitor. Now.” Iveani stated with deadly calm.  
“All right!” Renaste gave in, feeling mortally afraid. If Iveani was going mad, which felt likely, Renaste wanted the woman far and gone. The situation was out of Renaste’s hands anyway, since she had no way to deal with something like this. Rift was really best option. Maybe, if they were lucky, Iveani would perish fighting Nightmare, or managed kill it. Either way, it wouldn’t be Inquisition’s problem.  
She opened a small rift in front of them, ignoring the ache in the Anchor, and said to Iveani:  
“You have it! And now get out from here, you demon!”  
Iveani ignored her completely. She merely walked through, carrying her foci. Just when Renaste was going to close the rift, a glimmer of blue appeared on the mouth of the rift, sealing it. It was like a glass window built between two worlds. It stopped Renaste from closing the rift, but nobody could get in or out, either.

\--

She had gotten there just in time. A nightmarish creature was squeezing Garrett with its tendrils so hard that Iveani could hear his ribs cracking. The demon was bleeding from several wounds, but Garrett’s sword was laying on the ground, and Iveani wasn’t sure if he was conscious anymore. His head was rattling from one side to another in worrying manner as the demon shook him.  
“Put him down.” she addressed the demon in elvish. “Or I rip you into pieces.”  
The demon blinked at her with several eyes at once, and tried to grab her, too. But Iveani wasn’t having any of it. She pulled power from her orb, and used it to change the Fade. The green mists of Beyond rose as spikes, impaling the creature from underneath. The demon screamed as the sharp pillars of stone cut into soft flesh of its underbelly. With a forceful gesture of her hand, Iveani added heat, turning those pillars red-hot.  
“You will give me back what’s mine.” she stated without doubt.  
Demon screamed, but her magic held it on place, bending it under her will. The Fade was matter of  
willpower, and creatures built on ideal were limited by having only one emotion to rely on. Iveani was driven by anger, fear, and love as she understood it, and she had always been stubborn.  
“The shemlen? Or the other one?” the demon groaned, twisting in pain. “You can have them both, if you only let me keep this form! And my kingdom of fears. Surely you, as a healer of spirits, wish no ill for me.”  
“Healer has the bloodiest hands.” Iveani didn’t let herself to be distracted. She didn’t know what other one the demon was referring to, but she couldn’t afford to reveal her ignorance. “First give me the man you are holding. Carefully.”  
With pitiful wail, the demon lowered the tendrils holding Garrett, and let him fall softly on the ground.  
“I will open the way for you to reach the other one. But there isn’t much I can do to bindings. They were crafted by Lord of Nightmares, when he imprisoned him here.” the demon groaned.  
A cold understanding dawned on Iveani. She remembered Fen’Harel yelling to Renaste about not letting her to come to this place. She knew whom Fen’Harel had bound to darkest corner of the Fade he could find. This was the realm of Nightmare, place of All Fears.  
She gathered Garrett in her arms, starting to work healing magic. Inside, Iveani felt terrible, tearing pain in her heart which made her wish she could cry. At some careless moment, the cruel feeling called love had sank it’s talons into her flesh, and the worst thing was that she couldn’t find a will to regret what had happened. All her regrets were for what she had to do next.

 

They said in the Chantry that after good Andrastians died, they would be taken to Maker’s bosom where Andraste watched over them. Hawke had never thought himself a very good Andrastian, even though he believed. But maybe the Chant had gotten something right after all. Because when pain ended, and he opened his weary eyes, he saw his wife cradling him on her lap. Green mists of Fade loomed over them.  
“Hush, Garrett.” Iveani said. “Don’t move yet. I’m not finished.”  
She moved her hands over his body, focusing her gaze on something he couldn’t see. But Hawke felt the prickling cold which always reminded him of Anders and his healing spells. Something moved inside him, in pulling motion, and it hurt like hell. He cried out, his body trembling with pain, but Iveani held him on place. She was surprisingly strong, for such thin-boned woman. Pain made his eyes water, and it took a moment before he could breathe properly again.  
“One of your ribs had impaled a lung. I had to pull it out to repair the damage.” she said. “After you return, you have to let it heal properly. Bedrest, at least for two weeks.”  
Garrett blinked. He didn’t understand.  
“Return where?” he asked, his voice weak.  
“To Thedas.” Iveani said. “You can’t survive here for long, not without the Inquisitor and her anchor. The magic would rip you apart.”  
Her expression softened.  
“Don’t you remember, ara’isha? You were left behind when the Inquisitor and her party escaped the Nightmare. I came here to save you.”  
“But it was a huge demon.”, he said, aghast, and his hand tried to reach for his sword which wasn’t there. There was no way Iveani could have fought it. “A huge spider demon.”  
“I didn’t know you feared spiders so.”, Iveani said. There was something terribly sad in her eyes, even though her words were gentle and light. She brushed his hair with careful fingers.  
“I love you, Garrett.” she said. “I want you to remember it.”  
“Wait a minute.” Hawke said, dread creeping into his bones. “We won. This is supposed to be happy moment, yet you don’t sound happy at all. Is something wrong? Did Fen’Harel do something again?”  
“This isn’t about Fen’Harel.” Iveani replied. “I’m grateful for everything we had. You saved me. You made me happy. The months we spent in Kirkwall were the best in my whole life, but I can’t be with you anymore.”  
“Oh, no, you don’t! You can’t tell you love me and then break up with me in the middle of Fade.” Hawke sat up even though pain flashed through his middle, colouring the whole world red for a moment. “This isn’t real! It’s just another nightmare, a trick of my mind. My wife would never leave me here.”  
“I’m not going to leave you here. I’m the one staying. I’m very sorry, Garrett.” Iveani said, and there were tears in her eyes. She reached for him, for last, desperate kiss, and Hawke was almost certain she had changed her mind. Then he felt her warm breath against his ear.  
“Ar lath ma, Garrett. It is best if you don’t look for me.”  
Her broken whisper still echoed in his ears when he fell down, down, down.

 

As soon as Hawke was safely on the other side of the rift, Iveani closed it. It was too tempting to leave it open. She wanted nothing more than to follow him and go back, but she couldn’t. Fade was ever changing, and if she left now, she might never find her way back to this particular realm. Fen’Harel would make sure of it.  
The way Nightmare had promised was open to her, a narrow path between two walls of stone. Holding her orb to light her way, Iveani started walking along it. She felt numb, and void. What she had feared, had already happened by her own hand, and there was nothing Nightmare could do to make it worse.  
The path wasn’t long. In the end of it, she saw a crumbled figure of a man, chained to ground. Seven circles of runes surrounded him. She knew some of them, but not all. Those she recognized were all equally deadly.  
“Father.”, Iveani called, kneeling on the ground to dissolve the sigil nearest to her. “Father. Can you hear me? It’s me. I’ve’an’i _._ You called me your little tree. Ma da’adahl.”  
As the first rune faded away, weakening his chains, the chained man stirred. Elgar’nan opened his eyes for first time in over three thousand years.


	32. You snake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel understands he has raised a snake.

A shattering rune cut through the thin skin of her fingers, but Iveani grit her teeth and felt her way towards the next one, harvesting the remains of the rune to survive next one. The moment she had entered through the first circle of runes, Fade had turned pitch-black around her, and she could no longer see where she was going. The only spot illuminated was the centre, where Elgar’nan waited.   
It was fine trap, truly. She had no idea of where she was stumbling in the dark, and judging by her father’s frantic expressions, he could see just fine. But he, by Fen’Harel’s genius design, was unable to guide her in any way. Elgar’nan had no idea which runes Iveani knew well enough to dispel, or which would kill her on spot. The light surrounding him cut off all sound. She had tried to call for him, but he didn’t seem to hear. At first, Iveani had not been sure if father even recognized her, but after she accidentally walked on fire rune and set herself aflame in front of his eyes, there was no mistaking that he knew.

 

A spike of electricity made her scream even though she retreated the moment she recognized it. Sitting down on the last safe spot, she pulled out her orb, drawing power to heal herself. Iveani felt like she was going to throw up any moment, and adding more magic to traces of power already swirling in her mind made her head feel all dizzy.  
She looked at her father, who shook his head firmly. He nodded towards his chains and shook his head again.   
“I will not leave you here.” Iveani refused. “No matter what you say.”  
But she could not beat Dread Wolf’s trap this way. She might die, or Fen’Harel could come after them. And if she exhausted her orb by destroying the trap by pure force, she could hurt Elgar’nan and leave them both vulnerable to Dread Wolf. There had to be another way.

Iveani looked at the orb, then at light surrounding her father and had an idea. The Fade around them resisted all attempts to change it, but she could bend it for a simple spell, a cantrip. Looking at her father, she pointed at the darkness on her left side and then cast an illusion. One by one, she formed in image of every single rune she knew how to dispel. There was a proud flash in her father’s eyes when he shook his head and nodded towards left instead. Iveani began casting the images again, slower this time, and when Elgar’nan nodded again upon seeing a fire sigil, the course was set. She forsook the illusion and started preparing for dispelling a fire rune on left.

Her path was slow and winding. Sometimes Iveani had to take a step back to find a rune she could shatter, but she was still making progress. Each broken rune weakened the magic chaining her father. She was exhausted, but it was blessing in a way. Being too tired to think made it easy not to think of Hawke.

When she finally reached the seventh circle, stepping in the light, she had no strength left. Iveani made a feeble attempt to break one of the chains, but the drain on her mana dropped her on her knees.   
“I have waited for long time. I can wait a bit longer.” Elgar’nan told her.  
She couldn’t summon strength to open her eyes or answer. Iveani felt unfamiliar hands lifting her, and then the oddest feeling of resting her head on someone’s lap.   
“Rest, little one.” her father said. His chains rattled as he reached to stroke her hair. “I will watch over you.”  


\--

“What were you thinking, dear?” Vivienne asked sharply from Renaste. “You usually have such a cool head. But to let someone enter the Fade with magical artefact of immense power when our whole goal is to stop Corypheus for doing exact same thing!”  
“I don’t think my wife intends to enter the Golden City to become a god.” Hawke disagreed, trying to get up from the makeshift camp bed. Varric pushed him promptly back down.   
“It’s evident that you don’t know anything about her, or you simply chose not to tell us.” Vivienne snapped. “You are not innocent, Viscount.”  
Hawke’s eyes flashed.   
“If you think I’m going to blurt out all personal details concerning my marriage to you, you are even more delusional than Anders.”  
“But how do you know that she is not going to destroy the Veil and enter Golden City like Corypheus?” Vivienne demanded.  
“Oh, quit the crap! She only went after Hawke! Whom you were ready to sacrifice just like that!” Varric yelled.

The argument was in full swing when Fen’Harel quietly withdrew from the group. He walked through the fortress, looking for a quiet place to sleep. Going outside the fortress would have been better option, but it was not possible in this case. Fen’Harel needed to be close to scarred Veil which still hang above Adamant. The Fade would change soon, and his way to Nightmare’s realm would be lost if he waited for too long.

Inwardly, he was furious. How the wretched bitch could have kept such a secret from him? An orb! How long Iveani had carried an orb, well knowing it was the very thing Fen’Harel sought to recover. How she had found one in first place? The magic emanating from it had been familiar, but Fen’Harel knew all the designs of his brethren by heart, and Iveani’s stolen foci had not been one of them.

He should never have let her stay free. Or run away with shemlen. Letting her slip away to Kirkwall had started all this. This blatant disobedience with no care for his wishes at all. Even if the Inquisition believed Iveani wanted to do what Corypheus planned, Fen’Harel knew better. Undoubtedly the little idiot had somehow found out about Elgar’nan, and was trying to free him.  
Fen’Harel couldn’t quite decide whether he should let her die in attempt. He didn’t want to be last one of his kind, and he needed her orb, but it was not a pleasant feeling to understand he had been raising a snake all these years.

He found a small closet under stairs and laid down on dirty floor, quickly falling asleep with rage boiling in his blood.


	33. The seal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel gives Hawke a message to deliver.

Hawke was not a Dreamer. But he had learned something about the nature of dreams when he had entered the Fade with his companions to help elf-blooded Feynriel, and more from Despair’s banishment. He was willing to bet his crown that this was not an ordinary dream. Something or someone was hiding in the shadows of the forest surrounding him.

“A word.” Fen’Harel said, walking out between the trees. He was not the nondescript mage Hawke had grown accustomed to seeing. This Fen’Harel was taller and far better dressed. And he was crowned with a clean, white skull placed on his dark hair.  
Hawke could feel cold tingling between his shoulder blades. This was not good.  
“What do you want of me?” he demanded. “There is nothing more I can tell you. She left me. I’m no use for you.”  
“If I wanted to kill you here, there is nothing you could to stop me, shemlen. This is my realm.” Fen’Harel said, looking coldly at him. “But there is something you will do for me. I want to send a message.”  
“I’m not your errand boy.”  
“Iveani is out of my reach now. But without my information, she will kill herself in attempt to free her family. It's your choice whether you share it with her or not.” Fen’Harel stated. His voice was deliberately uncaring, but Hawke could see the fury the elf was barely holding in check. His shoulders were tense, hands fisted.  
Hawke was taken aback.  
“Kill herself? Why would Iv kill herself?” his voice rose. Like everything with the accursed Wolf, this was just getting from bad to worse.  
“Why did she marry you? For sheer stupidity, of course.” Fen’Harel snapped. “Now, pay attention. I have no patience or time to tell you why or how. It’s far easier if I show you.”

 _When Fen’Harel entered his fortress, the baby was still crying. The noise annoyed him, and Fen’Harel wondered if not killing her had been a good idea after all. His spell to finish the formation of Veil was tugging at him, and he had no time for distractions. It had to be tied to something to hold the whole thing together. The wolf statue he had reserved for the purpose was waiting on the altar, where the magical energies twisted and thrashed violently._  
_“Shut up!” he yelled at the baby._  
_She only started to cry harder, with snot running from her nose. Disgusted, Fen’Harel put her down and took a handkerchief from his pocket, dropping it on baby’s lap._  
_“Wipe it.” he commanded, keeping a safe distance in case the baby was going to sneeze._  
_As the infant tried to clean up her face, Fen’Harel studied the tiny elf. It was evident that this sorry creature truly was his vhenan’s offspring. She had Mythal’s beautiful eyes, and the shape of her small fingers reminded Fen’Harel painstakingly of his lover. But she lacked Mythal’s beautiful dark tresses, and her skin was sun-kissed. Seeing it made Fen’Harel angry, because he knew only one person with that particular skin tone. Elgar’nan. Why Mythal had ever agreed to this? To suffer through months and months of discomfort and sickness only to give life to child of the man who had murdered her in the end?_  
_“What is your name?” Fen’Harel glared at the baby._  
_“Iveani.” the baby said, smiling widely. She was clearly attempting to be charming and expected applause for saying a single understandable word. Fen’Harel found it ironically well-fitting. Little Creator, trying to gather servants of her own._  
_“Child of Beyond?” Fen’Harel repeated with dark amusement. “I—“_  
_Corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as a wonderful idea came to him. He picked up the baby and smiled down at her. The stupid little creature beamed back at him._  
_“I have something special reserved for you, little Iveani.” Fen’Harel cooed as he carried the child towards his altar, where the raw energies of Fade were swirling in the air and waiting for him to tie them together to complete the spell of imprisonment. “It suits you perfectly.”_  
_He took the wolf statue and threw it over his shoulder, putting the baby down on the altar instead._  
_“Papae?” she asked for a last time, looking worried._  
_“It would truly be best if you forgot them all, da’len.” Fen’Harel told her as he started to gather his spell. “Do you know what happens to a seal of a spell when the spell is broken?”_  
_The baby blinked, looking dumb._  
_“It breaks, too.” Fen’Harel said and brought the magic down on her._

\--

Hawke woke up in makeshift bunk, staring at the tent canvas above him.  
"Oh, Maker's balls.", he cursed as he tried to sit up. He would find his wife. Stop her from killing herself, even though Hawke doubted Iveani would thank him for leaving her family imprisoned forever. And then he would kill the Wolf.


	34. Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed that whatever shit went down, Varric was always the one who had to pick up pieces. This time was no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your listening pleasure  
> https://youtu.be/jbg738Mjoe8?t=1m49s

It seemed that whatever shit went down, Varric was always the one who had to pick up pieces. This time was no different.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in Adamant. He hadn’t forgiven Inquisitor for leaving Hawke behind to battle a giant demon who looked like red lyrium idol, but the events after Varric left were even stranger. He wasn’t convinced if the tales of Iveani going all Meredith were true. Varric knew that Iveani had forced Inquisitor to open another rift for her, and Hawke had fallen out of it few moments later. Nothing had been right since.

Fen’Harel was panicking. If that was the right word. He didn’t strike Varric as a man who would get nervous, but it was the only word he could find to describe the restless attempts of the elf. He spent most of his time in library, or pouring over the maps, or interrogating the conscripted mages of any artefacts they might have seen in the Circle. But none of the answers he got seemed to satisfy him. There was another feeling, darker one. The man had been outplayed, and he was furious for it.

Renaste didn’t know what to do. She fluttered nervously from Fen’Harel to Hawke and from Hawke back to Commander, whom she had started to rely on more and more lately. All agreed that she had done the only sensible thing when Iveani had threatened to level the whole fortress, and it all had gone well in the end. They had Hawke back. But evidently she wasn’t as convinced as she would have wanted to be.

Hawke was worst of the three. Whatever had happened in the Fade, he took it hard. He laid in the bottom of the wagon for the long journey from Adamant to Skyhold, and as soon as he could stand up again, he went to Herald’s Rest. Varric was certain Hawke would start drinking again, and kill himself with it. But it was way worse. He didn’t drink. Most nights, Hawke just sat there, staring at his untouched drink, and brooded. Sometimes he sang. Those nights were worst.

Varric had always known that Hawke could sing. It was a skill expected from a properly raised nobleman. Hawke was rather good at it, but much to his late mother’s chagrin, none of the songs he knew were fit for polite company. They were filthy enough to make Aveline uncomfortable. But this one was just bad. It was naked and honest and filled with raw emotion Varric wanted to know nothing about. But the people in the tavern just loved it.  
“It’s been so lonely without you here.”, Hawke’s deep, strong voice filled the tavern, pouring misery over everyone. “Like a bird without a song.”  
“Oooo.”, the Chargers joined in for a chorus.  
“Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling.”  
Varric cringed inwardly. Shit, how embarrassing.  
“..Tell me, love, where did I go wrong? Nothing compares, nothing compares to you.”  
That was when Varric decided it couldn’t go on. There was no way he could take Hawke back to Kirkwall like this.

 

 

With bribery, blackmail and threats of minor violence, Varric had managed to gather Fen’Harel, Renaste and Hawke into war room for a meeting with Morrigan and the advisors. None of them had wanted to come, naturally, but Varric didn’t give them a chance to decline. His long association with Dwarven Merchants Guild had given him ample experience on how people could be forced to attend meetings against their will. It felt somewhat cruel to use those techniques on other people, but he did this for Hawke.

“So. I’ve tried to be patient, but this shit isn’t getting any better.”, Varric began. “I want to know what’s the deal with Iveani and Adamant.”  
Hawke flinched visibly when her name was mentioned. But so did Fen’Harel.  
“You go first. Hawke, what happened in the Fade?”  
“I stayed behind to fight the huge demon.”, Hawke said reluctantly. “And I think I lost. Can’t remember. And Iv came there. The demon was gone. She told me that she loved me, and then she broke up with me.”  
Varric almost regretted asking. Fen’Harel’s face was neutral, but there were certain gleefulness in his eyes which couldn’t be denied.  
Gathering his self-control, Hawke continued in angry voice:  
“She said she would stay behind. I don’t understand why. Iveani doesn’t like the Fade, and the demon was gone by then. Nothing stopped her from coming back with me. She would never have gone back voluntarily, not after Fen’Harel – yes, I’m looking at you, you prick – kept her imprisoned there for her whole life.”  
“Have you considered that maybe it was just easy way to get rid of lovesick idiot?”, Fen’Harel asked. “She was never meant for the likes of you.”  
“Go fuck a forest, wolf boy.”  
“Gentlemen, please mind your tempers.”, Josephine said. “We will not solve this problem with insults.”  
“No matter what he says, I don’t believe she wanted to stay. She cried.”, Hawke crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Fen’Harel.  
“What about the orb?”, Leliana asked shrewdly. “She had an orb, like Corypheus, and she apparently took it with her. Fen’Harel, you said that the one Corypheus holds is elven. What could she do with an artefact like that?”  
Fen’Harel looked at the map with cool, calculating expression. Then he sighed, and said:  
“I have to be sure that what I’m going to tell you, will not leave this room. It’s of utmost importance.”  
“Very well.”, Renaste said carefully. “Speak.”  
“You remember Alexius accused me of being ancient elvhen god? It isn’t true, but the truth is similar enough. I was part of the group elves revered as their pantheon. Much like people worship our Inquisitor as the Herald of Andraste.”, Fen’Harel said.  
“So you are saying the elven gods aren’t gods like Maker?”, Renaste asked.  
“It depends on one’s definition. What is a god? A legend given name, or something more?”, Fen’Harel shrugged. “I’m not immortal in a sense I couldn’t die, but arrow through my back or old age are not nearly enough to kill me. It’s sufficient to say that we were not your common mages imprisoned in a tower. Like any organisation, ours became corrupted as well. My brethren took slaves. Grave injustices were committed. And finally I saw no other option than to seal them away to save the world.”  
He looked at his audience, who gawked with open mouths. All except Hawke, whose brown eyes were doubtful. Fen’Harel wondered how much Iveani had told the shemlen. No matter. He didn’t need Hawke, as long as he got the rest of them.  
“I locked my kin away. But there was a problem. Two of them, Elgar’nan and Mythal, had a baby they had kept in secret from everyone, including me. I found her alone and wounded. I couldn’t leave her, and she was too young to be held responsible of her parents’ mistakes. So I took her with me, and we slept for a very long time. I kept her safe from this world, and raised her in the Fade, with Spirit of Wisdom helping me. But when the Breach opened, Iveani ventured in the world for first time ever, and I believe her experiences with humans have made her resentful.”  
He saw Cullen nodding, then Leliana. Undoubtedly they remembered the accident at Haven gates. Fen’Harel smiled inwardly and continued:  
“I never told her the horrible things her family committed. It felt too cruel. She has no idea of their true nature. But now she has found an orb somehow, and I fear she is going to try to break them out in misguided attempt to help them.”, Fen’Harel said gravelly. “The world can’t stand against the false gods. Even one of them is greater threat than Corypheus ever was, and united, there is nothing that can stop them. If my brethren wake up, they will not forgive humankind or me for the deaths of elven race. We have find her and stop her, before it’s too late. I must seal their prisons anew, and for that, we have to get the orb back from Corypheus.”  
“Oh, shit.”, Varric said.  
“Fine story, except it’s bullshit.”, Hawke said sharply. “You told me you bound Iv’s life to your spell of imprisonment, even though she was just a baby. You didn’t lock them away for a noble cause. You wanted vengeance. You had affair with Mythal, and when her husband found out, he murdered her. And she isn’t dead, not in literal sense. How many other details you changed, thinking you could get away with it?”  
Now it was Fen’Harel’s turn to feel like faint. He held the edge of the table, feeling dizzy.  
“What do you mean Mythal isn’t dead?”, he demanded, his voice rising. “I saw her dead body with my own eyes! I _held_ her lifeless corpse in my arms. She was my heart, my one true love, and I’ve grieved her for all these years. If you are playing trick on me, shemlen, I swear I will make you regret the day you were born!”  
“I don’t understand the magic behind it, but I know what I saw. I’ve met Iveani’s mother. She gave her the orb. She calls herself Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds.”, Hawke said with certainty.  
The room was utterly quiet. Then Morrigan spoke, and her voice dripped loathing.  
“Mother.”


End file.
